The Hating Game (27 page)

There's no possible way to adequately end a moment like this. How does one transition back to reality? This hotel room needs a commemorative plaque.

“Oh shit! Breakfast is soon. We gotta hurry. I need to pack my bag.”

“Let's skip it.” His hands toy with the curve of my waist and hips. Up, down. In, out.

“Your mom'll be waiting. Come on.”

“No,” he yowls unhappily, and his hands slide up my shoulders.

“No,” I tell him in return and get out of the shower, evading his hands. I wrap myself in a towel and check the time beside the bed.

“Come on, fifteen minutes. Hurry, hurry.”

“I'll book the room for another day. We can stay for hours. We could live here.”

“Josh. I like your mom. And I don't know if I'm lame for wanting to make her happy, and I don't know if I'll ever see her again after today. I know she misses you. Maybe that's my role in this whole weekend. To force you to be with your family again.”

“How sweet. Forcing me to do things I don't want to. And of course you'll see her again.”

“Fine. Put it this way. I was invited to breakfast and I'm going. I'm starving. You sexed all of my energy out. You do what you want.”

I manage to get some mascara on and half of my top lip done in Flamethrower. Then he eases up behind me and I look at us in the mirror.

The differences between us have never been more stark, or more erotic. The contrast of me against his large, muscled glory almost breaks my resolve. He gathers my hair away from the side of my neck and drops his mouth in a kiss. We make eye contact in the mirror and I let out a broken breath.

I want to tell him, yes, rent this room for the rest of our lives. If I had more time, I could make you love me. The realization has me by the throat.

I'd have to be blind to not see the light of affection in his eyes as he wraps his arms tighter and begins kissing the side of my neck. I'd have to be a thousand years old to forget the way he kisses me. It's the fresh new bud of something that could one day be something remarkable, but I have severe doubts that it could survive in the real world. This bubble we're in? It's not reality. I wish it was, and I wish we lived here. All of this, I should say out loud to him, but I don't have the courage.

I close my eyes. “We can have breakfast and then drive back to your apartment at warp speed.”

“Fine. Nice lipstick, by the way.”

I manage to get the rest done and I blot once. He takes the tissue before I can scrunch it up. He holds it up to admire it.

“Like a heart.”

“How about you buy a little white canvas and I'll kiss it for you. Something to remember me by.”

I give him a cute wink to keep the tone light. The sarcastic rejoinder that I am expecting never eventuates, and instead he turns and walks out of the bathroom. When I come out a few minutes later with my makeup bag under my arm he's dressed in jeans and a red T-shirt.

“I've never seen you in red. How come every color in the flippin' rainbow suits you?”

He puts my cell phone near my purse, and the white rose he saved from his lapel.

“You just think they do.” He zips his bag and stands at the window, looking out at the water.

I dig in my bag for my own jeans and the black cashmere sweater I'm glad I packed. The air down here is colder, fresher than I'm used to. I'm getting dressed and he's not watching. I hop slightly to get the jeans zipped up and he doesn't turn. I loudly squirt perfume into my cleavage and he doesn't even flare a nostril.

“Breakfast is going to be fine.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says faintly.

I stick my feet into some flats and decide to leave my hair in its big messy damp bun. I walk up behind him and hug his waist, resting my cheekbone against the lower curve of his shoulder blade.

“Tell me what's wrong.”

“I'm a one-night stand. This is everything I've been trying to avoid. I've been trying to build something, not give you some sense of closure.”

“No! Hey. How have I made you feel this way?” I tug on his elbow until he faces me.

“You're constantly talking like it's already over. A lipstick kiss to remember you by? Why am I going to need reminding, exactly?”

“We're not working together much longer.”

“I haven't wanted you this long, and gone through so much, and given up so much, to have you for one night. It's not enough.”

He's right, of course. The interview result hangs over us like a scythe. A flash of impatience hits me.

“Can I stay at your place tonight?” It's all I can think of to say. “Can I sleep in your bed?”

“I guess,” he says sulkily, and I tug him by the loops on his jeans over to his suitcase.

I look back at the bed. How so much could have changed in one space? Maybe he's thinking the same thing. He kisses my eyebrow so gently I feel tears begin to prick behind my eyes.

I catch a glimpse of the receipt when we check out. It was roughly a week's rent for this magical hotel room. He slashes his signature like Zorro onto it, and hugs me close. My cheek presses against his perfect pectoral.

“And did you have a nice stay?”

The elegantly groomed receptionist is smiling a little too widely at Josh as she processes the checkout. She seems to be willfully ignoring my presence, or maybe she's just dazzled. I look at her slicked-back blond-coil hairdo. Her chalky pink lipstick is too bright against her tan. Hotel Barbie.

“Yes, thanks,” he replies absently. “Great water pressure in the shower.”

I look up at his face and watch the corner of his mouth quirk, the little smile line deepening.

The receptionist is definitely imagining him in the shower. Her eyes stray from bicep to computer screen. Screen to his face. She staples and folds and searches for the perfect little envelope for his receipt, even though the customer at the next counter didn't get one.

She fiddles and does a dozen other little things so she can look at little segments of him. She tells him about their loyalty program and how his next check-in will be with a free bottle of wine, and probably her, draped across his bed. She reconfirms his address and phone number.

I'm gimlet-eyed with annoyance. He doesn't notice, and begins kissing my temple. Who can blame her, though?

A man built like this, with a face like this, being so ridiculously sweet and tender? I'd die a little too, watching this, and I'm the one on the receiving end. It's like seeing a bruised nightclub bouncer cuddling a tutu-clad toddler, or a cage fighter blowing a kiss to his sweetheart in the front row. Brute, raw masculinity contrasted with gentleness is the most attractive thing on earth.

Josh is the most attractive thing on earth.

I watch her eyes harden speculatively as she glances at me. I spread my hand across his chest. It says,
mine.
The tiny jealous cavewoman in me can't resist.

“Shall we bring your car?”

“Yes,” Josh says at the same moment I say, “No.”

“No, we're having breakfast. Can we leave our bags here?”

“Of course.” She checks Josh's bare left hand. My bare left hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Templeman.”

“I need a fake wedding band on you if we ever came back,” I grumble as we walk through the lobby to the restaurant.

Josh nearly trips over his own foot. “Why on earth would you say that?”

We walk past the ballroom and I can see cleaners taking down the huge bunches of Mindy-pink balloons.

“The receptionist wanted to jump on you. I can't blame her, but sheesh. I was standing right there. What am I, invisible?”

Josh looks at me sideways. “How primal.”

We push through the glass double doors and he pulls me to one side. I crane around the doorframe. I can see his family. I raise my hand to wave but he tugs me back and scolds me unintelligibly.

“It's a buffet.” My delight is evident in my voice. “Look at those croissants, plain
and
chocolate. Quick, there's not many left.”

“I am going to appeal to you one last time. Let's just go. Things went pretty well yesterday, family-wise. Let's cut our losses.”

“And what, screech out of here like Thelma and Louise?”

“They all loved
you
.”

“I'm immensely lovable. Josh, come
on.
Croissants. I'm here with you. No one will hurt you as long as I'm here. I've got my invisible paintball gun. Take me in there, feed me pastry, and then drive me back to your pretty blue bedroom.”

He presses a little kiss to my lips. I look over my shoulder at the reception desk.

“Come on, be brave. Forget about your dad and focus on your mom. Be a gentleman. I'm going in.”

I weave through the room and I have no idea if he's following. If he's not, this is going to be a little awkward.

A
t the table by the window sits Elaine and Anthony, and Mindy and Patrick. Everyone stops talking when I approach. I wave like a dork. Everyone looks surprised.

“Hi.”

“Lucy! Hello!” Elaine recovers first and looks at the table. Oh. There are no spare chairs. We're barely five minutes late. They clearly weren't expecting us to turn up. Josh is dawdling, thankfully.

“Quick, quick!” I start looking around at other tables.

“More chairs,” Elaine gasps. She understands perfectly. If he walks over here and there are no seats for us, he'll shrivel up.

Anthony sits at the daddy-end of the table and continues reading his folded up newspaper. No wait, medical journal. Jeez. He makes no indication he's aware of any other people in the room.

There's a great deal of shuffling and I manage to borrow spare chairs from a nearby table. By the time Josh arrives with a plate of croissants and a cup of tea, we're all sitting as casually as we can, trying to slide the plates back in front of their original owners.

“Good morning,” everyone chimes.

“Hi,” he says cautiously, and puts the plate and tea in front of
me. “I got you the last ones.” It's a plate filled with croissants and strawberries. He strokes his hand down the side of my neck.

“Sweet of you. Thanks.”

“I'll just get something,” he says, and retreats. Elaine watches him, part sad, part amused, and looks at Anthony.

I smile at Mindy to show I'm not upset anymore. I probably have a nuclear post-orgasmic glow. She tentatively smiles back.

“How do you feel, Mrs. Templeman?”

I didn't put too much thought into the question, but the words
Mrs. Templeman
make her physically jolt. Maybe I'm exceptionally empathetic, but I feel like I've dropped a bombshell. The words ring in my ears, off the walls, right through my bones.

Mrs. Templeman.
How primal, indeed.

“Wrecked. I'm so tired I feel like I'm dreaming. But in a good way.” She breaks into a smile and looks at the tablecloth.

“Mrs. Templeman. It sounds so . . .” She covers her face with her hands and sighs and laughs and dorks. Get out of my head, Mindy.

“Sorry we took a smaller table,” Elaine begins, but I shake my head.

“It's okay. I had to use my lasso to get him down here.” I mime swinging a rope over my head and the women burst out laughing. The men sit silently, reading and eating.

“I can imagine it. Little cowgirl dragging him behind her, bucking and snorting.”

“I don't know why he makes such a big deal of everything,” Patrick interjects mildly, taking a quick wincing mouthful of his coffee.

I have a feeling he's always so busy he eats all of his meals in painful scalding gulps and swallows. Maybe it's a doctor thing. Ingest the fuel rather than enjoy it.

“He's shy. Leave him alone.”

Patrick frowns at my kid-sister impudence, and then laughs. He glances at Josh.

“Shy. Huh.” I can see the realization dawning across his face, like it did mine yesterday. Shyness takes so many different forms. Some people are shy and soft. Some, shy and hard. Or in Josh's case, shy, and wrapped in military-grade armor.

“Josh, Lucy, thank you for the gift,” Mindy says when Josh takes his seat. She catches my eye and smiles, clearly thinking I chose it.

“I never did see what he ended up choosing.” I take a huge bite of croissant. He's got one arm across the back of my chair, his warm hand spread across my shoulder.

“The most beautiful set of Waterford crystal champagne glasses, engraved with our initials. And two bottles of Moët.”

“Good job, Josh.”

“The wedding was nice,” Josh tells her. I look at his eyes as they assess each other. It's probably the first time they've faced each other since the breakup. I almost quiver with concentration, trying to detect any residual heartbreak, lust, resentment, loneliness. If I had whiskers, they would be twitching.

“Thanks,” Mindy replies. She looks at her wedding ring again and then at Patrick with such helpless devotion I look at Josh sharply. If ever he was going to react badly it would be now. He smiles, looks at his plate, and then looks at me. He kisses my temple and I'm convinced.

“How have you kept Lucy a secret from us all?” Mindy says as she cuts her grapefruit.

“Oh, you know. I keep her in my basement.”

“It's not as bad as it sounds. He's made it comfy down there.” Everyone laughs, except Anthony, naturally.

I have a refreshing realization. I'm not trying. It explains why I'm so comfortable sitting here, eating with strangers. If they like me, fine. If not, I can live. But I feel the same relaxed slouchy feeling I get when sitting with my family. If I tilt my head just right, I can't see Anthony at all.

Mindy lists some of the other gifts they received. Patrick's new gold band winks in the pale sunshine filtering in through the clouds, and he occasionally curls his thumb in to touch it. Mindy watches him, tenderness in her eyes.

Josh's breakfast is two poached eggs, a slice of wheat toast, and a heap of wilted spinach. He drinks his coffee in two swallows. I look at my own plate and pinch my stomach under the table. His body is a temple. Mine will be a hut made of butter at this rate.

“More coffee?” I get up and decide to bring myself back some more fruit. I can't just sit there eating pastry. He snags my wrist and looks up at me.

Stay,
his eyes tell me. I pat him kindly and he reluctantly relinquishes his mug.

“I'll be right back. Anyone else?”

I take my time fiddling with the coffee machine. Everything's a little stilted and it does occur to me that I'm essentially an intruder. I'm the only one at the table who's not a Templeman.

As I struggle with the long plastic tongs to get another slice of watermelon, I am dimly aware of sharp tones. I'm piling my plate with a bunch of grapes when realization dawns. Oh shit.

I hurry back to the table and put down my plate and Josh's mug. Mindy is frozen, eyes frightened, and Patrick looks resigned.

“But what I want to know is, why would you throw away premed? Any monkey can get an MBA.” Anthony has laid aside his breakfast reading and is staring down Josh, gimlet-eyed.

Seriously, I was away from the table for maybe two minutes.
How did this escalate so quickly? I suppose a nuclear bomb has one red button, and that doesn't take long to press. I put my hand on the back of Josh's neck, like I'm holding an attack dog by the collar.

“For fuck's sake. If you knew anything about it, you'd know it's almost impossible to complete an executive MBA while working full-time. And I did it. And I was in the top two percent. I got four job offers, and two of those companies still call me.”

“I'm surprised you finished it, if it was so hard,” Anthony says. “I thought your favorite hobby was quitting.”

“Hey,” I blurt. I'm still standing, and I realize I have a hand on my hip.

“Lucy, they're just . . .” Elaine is unsure of what to do. “Maybe you should talk to Josh outside, Anthony.”

People at nearby tables are all sitting with cutlery lowered in various stages of avid interest or awkward avoidance.

Josh laughs meanly. “Why, so we can have a good old-fashioned fistfight? He'd just love that.”

Anthony rolls his eyes. “You need to—”

“Toughen up? Is that what you're about to say to me? What you've said to me for as long as I've been alive?” Josh glances up at me in exasperation. “Now can we go?”

“I think maybe you should talk this out.” Another five years might go by.

“She's one of those touchy-feely types,” Anthony says to Elaine. “Fantastic.”

Josh's eyes narrow dangerously. “Don't talk about her.”

“Well, she can't resist bringing herself into it.”

“Be quiet,” Elaine says to Anthony. She's furious. “All I asked was for you to be civil. Keep your mouth shut.”

I look at Anthony and he looks at me. His eyes are full of deri
sion as he runs his eyes from the top of my head, down. Then he sniffs and looks out the window, obeying his wife, mouth pursed shut.

Oh boy. I'm not putting up with this twice in my life, and certainly not from another Templeman. My temper snaps.

“Your son is incredibly talented. Focused. Ridiculously intelligent. He is instrumental in keeping a publishing house running.”

“What, licking stamps? Answering phones?” We lock eyes.

I bark a laugh. “Is that seriously what you think he does?”

“I'm not going to sit here and be spoken to like this by
you
, young woman. I've seen his email signature block. Assistant TO the CEO. I don't know who you think you are.”

He's attempting to reestablish his authority. Maybe I'll sit down and be a good little girl. Josh's instinct to protect me is making him rise up out of his chair but I wave him back.

I got this.

“I'm the person who knows your own offspring better than you do. He's the person the finance and sales divisions report to. They're scared fucking shitless of him. I once had a forty-five-year-old man beg me in the hall outside the boardroom to pass on the documents so he wouldn't have to attend. I've seen entire teams scurrying like ants, double-checking, triple-checking their figures. Even then, Josh will always find the mistake. Then usually someone takes a stress day.”

Anthony begins to bluster something, but I cut him off. I'm so worked up I could strangle him. Honestly, I could wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze.

I am Lara Croft, guns raised, eyes blazing with retribution.

“The reason Bexley Books didn't completely implode before the merger is Josh recommended that their workforce be reduced by thirty-five percent. I've hated him for it. It was cold-blooded.
And he can be, you have no idea. But it meant another one hundred and twenty people kept their jobs. Paid their mortgages. So don't you
dare
try to make out like he's nothing. Oh, and I know for a fact Josh was integral in the merger negotiations. One of the corporate lawyers told me in the kitchen he was, quote, ‘
a fucking hardass
.'”

I can't seem to stop. It's like I'm purging something.

“His boss, who's the co-CEO in title only, is a fat, sleazy toad so out of his mind on prescriptions he can barely tie a shoelace. Josh is who keeps it all running. Both of us do.”

I look at them all. Josh is digging his fingers into the waistband of my jeans.

“I'm sorry I'm making a scene. And I like all of you. Except you.” I cut a look at Anthony.

“I spend more time with him than anyone, and I have to tell you, you don't know what you've got. You've got Josh. He's an awkward, difficult asshole. I hate him almost half the time and he drives me mental, and it's clearly hereditary. You gave me the exact same look Josh first did when I met him. Top to bottom, out the window. You know everything about me? You know everything about him? I don't think so.”

“I have been trying to give him a boost. Some people need a push,” Anthony says.

“You can't have it both ways. You can't completely neglect him, yet trash his choices.”

Anthony raises a hand to his brow and rubs it like he's getting a headache. “My father pushed my younger brother.”

“And how did he enjoy that?”

His eyes flick sideways. Not too much, I'm guessing.

“He's not a doctor.
Deal with it
.”

Anthony goggles at me.

“But I want you to know something. He could be, if he wanted to. He could be anything he fucking wanted to. Nothing is by mistake. Nothing is because he's not good enough. It's his choice.”

I sit down in a huff. Mindy and Patrick look at each other, mouths open. Hell, the entire room is sitting with their mouths open. I hear someone start to clap, then hastily stop.

“I'm sorry, Elaine.” I take a huge mouthful of tea, nearly spilling it down my top. My hands are shaking.

“Don't apologize for defending him like that,” she says faintly. I suppose what she means by
like that
is like a rabid lioness.

I find the courage to look at Josh. He looks completely shell-shocked.

“I . . .” Anthony trails off and I level my best stare on him. The same withering, emotionless glare I've given his son a thousand times before.

“I . . . er.” He clears his throat and looks at his cutlery.

“Yes, Dr. Templeman? Care to share?” My audacity is breathtaking.

“I don't know much about your work, Josh.” Everyone's jaw drops even further. Mine doesn't. I will never give him the satisfaction. I stare into his eyes and mentally twist a rusty fish knife into his gut. I raise an eyebrow.

“I'd . . . be interested in talking to you more about it, Josh.”

I interject. “Now that you know he's successful? Now you know that he'll almost certainly be promoted to chief operating officer of a major publishing house? You've got something to tell your buddies at golf now.”

“Squash,” Patrick tells me in an aside. “He plays squash.”

I have given Anthony the dressing-down of a lifetime. He is unable to speak. It is wonderful.

“You should love him and be proud of him even if he's in
the mailroom. Even if he were unemployed and crazy and living under a bridge. We're leaving now. Elaine, it was a pleasure, I loved meeting you. Mindy, Patrick, congratulations again and enjoy your honeymoon. Sorry I made a scene just now. Anthony, it's been real.”

I stand up. “
Now
we screech out of here like Thelma and Louise.” Josh stands and goes to kiss his mother's cheek. She grasps helplessly at his wrist.

“But when will I see you?” She looks up at Josh, but she also looks to me.

I can see Josh's jaw tightening, and I can almost hear the excuses forming on his tongue. He might drop off the radar for the Templeman family altogether. The next thing I say surprises even me. Especially given the fact I've essentially just said good-bye to them all for the last time.