Too Close to Touch (14 page)

“Oh. Okay.”

Mick hit the play button and the movie started up again. Kylie took a deep breath and ß opped onto her side, dropping her other foot into Mick’s lap and wondering what it would take for her to be able to throw caution to the wind and just go get herself laid, mate-for-life tendencies be damned.
Seriously, how hard could it be?

Exactly half a second later, she was laughing internally at herself, feeling silly for even entertaining such a ridiculous thought.

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CHAPTER NINE

How’d it go?” Kylie’s excitement was genuine and her voice was a welcome melody in Gretchen’s earpiece as she sped south along the New York State Thruway at seventy-Þ ve miles an hour, chatting on her cell phone.

“It was fantastic. Sarah really knows her shit. I just hung back and let her do her stuff, answered a few big picture questions here and there.” She smiled at the memory. “Let me tell you something, Kylie.

In sales, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of knowing you’ve got the client in the bag.”

“And she bagged him?”

“She totally bagged him.”

“She’s good.” Kylie’s voice was tinted with pride. “Jim always said she’s our best rep. Jason has larger numbers, but Sarah’s got a tougher territory.”

“She deÞ nitely charmed them. It was impressive.”

“And now you’re headed downstate for the weekend?”

Gretchen sighed. “Yes, I am.”

“You don’t sound thrilled about it.”

“I’ve just got other things I could be doing, you know? I’ve got boxes to unpack. I’ve got a bathroom to paint. I’ve got groceries to buy.”

“Will you get to see your brother’s family?”

Gretchen smiled at Kylie’s ability not only to remember details, but to Þ nd the bright spot. “I will.
That
, I’m looking forward to.”

“See? So, it won’t be a wasted trip.”

“You’re right.”

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GEORGIA BEERS

“I usually am. You should listen to me more often.” Kylie’s tone was light and Gretchen felt herself wanting to stay on the phone with her for the entire ride.

“What’s new? Anything I need to know?”

“Not really. It’s been pretty quiet today.” Gretchen could make out the sound of Kylie shufß ing some papers. “Let’s see. Jessica Scott called again. Persistent little bugger, isn’t she? She wanted to congratulate you on turning the budget around or something like that. She’s in your voice-mail. Wheeler wants to meet with you next Wednesday so I put that on your calendar. Jori called late this morning. That’s about it. I handled anything else that cropped up, so you should be all clear for the weekend.”

“What are your plans next week? In the evenings?” It was out of her mouth before Gretchen even realized it.

“The evenings?” Kylie sounded properly confused by the head-spinning change in subject. “What do you mean?”

Gretchen chuckled. “I mean, I’d like to take you to dinner. I never thanked you for working late to help me get the budget together and I rarely thank you for doing such a great job and making me look so good. I’d like to take you to dinner. Someplace nice.”

“You don’t have to do that, Gretchen. Really. It’s my job.”

“You don’t want to have dinner with me?” She managed to squeeze a playful note into her reply to mask the seriousness of the question.

Kylie was silent for several seconds before answering quietly, “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“Tuesday after work?”

“Tuesday would be great.”

“Good.”

They talked business for a few more minutes and though Gretchen didn’t want to hang up, she had no excuse to continue the conversation other than a desire to keep Kylie talking. Ending the call, she snapped her phone shut with a sigh, her thoughts bouncing around her mind like the little silver balls in a pinball machine.

She thought about Kylie, sitting in her cubicle, answering the phone with just the right blend of competence and sugar. The clients loved her. The sales reps loved her. Gretchen had seen her for a short time that morning and found her black slacks and raspberry silk shell quite an eye-catching combination. As she’d briefed Gretchen before

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the trip, a lock of blond hair had fallen forward and Gretchen had to Þ ght to keep from reaching out and tucking it back behind Kylie’s ear.

Suddenly feeling stiß ed, she shook the vision from her head as she passed a semi on the thruway and slid the sunroof open to let in some air. Fantasizing was Þ ne; she’d done it ever since she Þ rst realized she liked women and wasn’t about to stop now. But thinking beyond the physical was a no-no and she had to consciously turn her thoughts elsewhere. She replayed the list of calls Kylie had recounted.
Jori
called late this morning
.

Jori.

Gretchen growled, annoyed. The subject of Jori had already taken up enough of her thinking time. Jori was fun. They’d been having a terriÞ c time on a very casual level. Jori was worldly, wealthy, sexy, creative…all things that Gretchen found attractive. She’d known within ten minutes of meeting her at the picnic that they’d end up in bed together, and they had—or on Gretchen’s couch, anyway. Jori had been just the right combination of fun and serious, with no pretense whatsoever that their time together was anything more than nonchalant and for-the-moment. It was exactly what Gretchen looked for in her informal pairings and they’d never failed to satisfy her temporary needs. Until Jori.

Gretchen hissed out a frustrated little breath. Jori had done everything right, everything Gretchen had expected and wanted of her.

She was sexy and attractive and a great kisser. Her moves were smooth, not too gentle, not too harsh. They’d battled a bit for control; Jori had even joked about two tops trying to top each other. Gretchen had won the Þ rst match, despite Jori’s height and weight advantages. Jori had orgasmed loudly, her Þ ngernails digging into Gretchen’s shoulder.

Then she immediately ß ipped Gretchen ß at onto her back on the ß oor and plunged her Þ ngers in without preamble. Gretchen had been wet and ready and had come quickly and rather quietly, but was surprised to feel no relief at all.

She had carried it off well and she was sure Jori wasn’t looking deeply enough to suspect anything was wrong. They’d joked and laughed and dressed and Jori had taken off not long afterward, just like a good casual sex partner always does. Bafß ed by her body’s lack of contentment, Gretchen had gone immediately into the bedroom to try taking care of things herself.

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Two climaxes later, nothing had changed. She couldn’t remember the last time an orgasm had left her feeling so utterly frustrated, and she’d spent every free moment of the next two days staring off into space trying to Þ gure out what the hell was wrong with her.

Self-analysis not being one of her favorite pastimes, Gretchen blinked rapidly and shook her head, forcing herself back to the present.

She would wait and call Jori later that night or further on into the weekend. In the meantime, her thoughts had taken another path. On impulse, she picked up the cell and dialed, grinning.

“Good afternoon, Gretchen Kaiser’s ofÞ ce. This is Kylie, may I help you?”

“I forgot to tell you to have a nice weekend.”

She could practically hear the smile on Kylie’s face, picture her blue eyes twinkling the way they always seemed to when she was pleasantly surprised. “You’re right. You did forget.”

“Have a nice weekend, Kylie.”

“You, too, Gretchen.”

She ß ipped the phone shut and hummed happily for the rest of the drive to Poughkeepsie.

v

The house hadn’t changed. Gretchen didn’t know why she thought it might. It had only been a couple months since she’d been there. She swung the BMW into the driveway and parked next to her father’s Cadillac. After turning off the ignition, she sat for several long minutes, hating that she was dreading the visit so much.

“Let’s just get it over with,” she muttered as she popped the trunk and exited the car. Retrieving her bag, she inhaled deeply. It was funny how different towns and cities and even states could smell different from one another. Happy as she was Þ nding herself to be in Rochester, she still missed Poughkeepsie.

Gretchen was struck with the same weird feeling each and every time she’d entered her parents’ house since her mother’s death. It felt, quite literally, like a slap. The second she entered the foyer, she was smacked by the absence of Emma Kaiser and physically ß inched. It happened every single time, no matter how thoroughly she prepared for it.

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Today was no different, and shaking off the discomfort, she set her bag down and called, “Dad?”

Her voice echoed through the quiet house and she cocked her head to listen for signs of life. Despite their lack of closeness, she knew her father well. Walking directly to the basement door, which stood ajar, she pulled it farther open and heard the sound of the television.

“Dad?” she called again.

“Down here.” His tone was deep and gravel-like. Gretchen had no illusions about where she’d acquired her own low voice.

She plodded down the carpeted steps to her father’s haven. He had reÞ nished the area with her mother’s help about twenty years ago.

Emma had decided her husband’s collection was getting out of hand and suggested they create a space just for him. It was his pride and joy. Baseball memorabilia was everywhere, hung on the paneled walls, decorating the corner bar area. He had cards and balls and bats and hats and even seats. A large poker table sat to one side, looking well-worn from seeing its regulars at least once a week.

John Kaiser sat in a big, black leather recliner watching the Yankee game on the big screen TV in front of him, a bottle of Heineken and a bowl of pretzels on the end table to his left. He looked over his shoulder brieß y, and his dark eyes softened.

“Hey, sweetheart. Is it that time already?” He glanced at his watch.

Gretchen approached him and kissed him on the cheek, the scent of his Old Spice sending her back to her childhood. “It’s almost Þ ve thirty.”

“Guess I lost track of time.” He picked up one of the four remote controls from the end table. “Let me just set this to record the rest of the game.” His eyes were glued to the set and he gestured at it. “Look at this moron.” He shook his head in disgust, punched a few buttons, and turned everything off.

“Looks like you’re getting pretty good with the electronics,”

Gretchen said.

“J.J. Þ xed it up for me and gave me a lesson. That kid knows electronics, let me tell you.” After three tries and some help from Gretchen, John pulled himself up out of his chair. “Thank you, darlin’.

These old knees don’t seem to want to work anymore.”

Gretchen was surprised by how much older her father appeared

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since the last time she’d seen him. He was no spring chicken at seventy-

Þ ve, but she had certainly never considered him elderly. His hair had thinned and was all white now; no trace of the rich darkness Gretchen had inherited was left. His crow’s feet were permanently visible, even when he wasn’t smiling, and his jowls seem to hang more than she remembered.

“Why are you so dressed up?” he asked, startling her out of her head as they slowly climbed the stairs.

She glanced down at the red suit and pumps she’d worn to the appointment with Sarah that morning. There had been no place to change and she suddenly found herself itching to get out of her work attire. “I came from work, Dad. I’ll change before dinner.”

“We’re meeting your brother at six thirty. You’d better get a move on.”

SatisÞ ed that he was up the stairs safely, Gretchen took one last glance at his astonishingly small form. He’d never been a big man, but he seemed impossibly frail and little now. Swallowing, she grabbed her bag from the foyer and headed upstairs to change.

Her room was still the same as it had always been. Somehow, she always expected it to look completely different when she returned, having Þ nally fallen victim to her father’s desire to convert the room into something else. After she’d moved out, he had wanted to use it for his baseball stuff, but Gretchen’s mother had talked him into Þ nishing the basement instead, using the excuse that it was bigger and he could have his poker buddies down there until all hours if he wanted.

Tonight, she would sleep in her old bed. Something about that thought stirred up discomfort in her stomach and she seriously debated asking Jenna if she could bunk at her and J.J.’s house with the kids.

But there were things in the basement storage area she needed to sort through; the earlier in the morning she could do that, the sooner she could head home.

Home.
Funny that she was already thinking of Rochester as home.

Her room was a mellow lavender, and daylight streamed in through the three adjacent windows running across the front of the house. It was deÞ nitely the nicest bedroom, with its own little bathroom, just like a miniature version of her parents’ master suite. The large double bed sat high off the ground, and she was sure her feet would still dangle if she

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sat on it. The gingham-checked purple and white comforter looked as soft and ß uffy as it had the Þ rst day she’d spread it out. She’d bought it on her last shopping trip with her mother before she died. The throw pillows were arranged neatly and Gretchen realized belatedly that the bed probably hadn’t been touched since her last visit.

Sighing, she dropped her bag and pulled the sheets off so she could toss them into the washing machine rather than trying to sleep in six inches of dust. As she worked, she glanced up at the shelves of trophies and awards that occupied a corner of the room. Science, gymnastics, dance, honor roll. They were all there. She’d been a good kid, a studious kid. Too studious, she thought now.