Want It Bad (8 page)

Waves lapped against the dock’s moorings. Nearby a boat motor started, then chugged out of its slip. Birds screeched overhead.

The sound of the boat’s motor grew closer.

Carla opened her eyes to see Gloria Hotchland’s Catalina Morgan 440 sailboat approaching her pier, sun sparking off its white fiberglass body, sail masts stabbing into the air. Jake stood at the helm, a grin lighting his face. He got in close, then tossed a mooring line and expertly lassoed the cleat on her deck.

“Better to go sailing than just think about it, don’t you think? How does a sunset cruise in
The Gloria
sound? Named for the fabulous Mrs. Hotchland by her dear, departed husband. I think he liked the idea of riding Gloria all day and night.”

Ice seized Carla’s stomach.

He finished tethering the boat, then motioned her to join him.

Carla forced herself out of the chair, but when she tried to take a step toward the boat, her knees started to shake. “I… I can’t. I have to go.”

Jake gestured to the wine and beer. “You brought all that just for me? Because I prefer not to drink alone.”

Carla shook her head. “I just… I can’t.”

“Okay. How about tomorrow? I don’t have a client until eight, and the weather’s supposed to be great.”

Carla opened her mouth then closed it. Of course, she was his eight o’clock appointment, and there wasn’t a chance she was setting foot on that boat. Carla needed to tell him both things, but at the moment, she felt so flustered and out of her element, she couldn’t find the words.

Carla was never at a loss for words.

He stepped up onto the pier, approaching her. “You really should take a look at this boat, though. It will only take a second. The cabin is amazing. Gloria’s late husband didn’t skimp on a thing.”

“No, really. I don’t…”

“Oh, come on. Five minutes.” He opened the last beer and held it up clinking his bottle to hers then scooped one arm around her back, ushering her toward the boat.

Carla took a swig of beer, then another, hoping the alcohol would help steady her nerves.

I’m not a little girl any more, for crying out loud. I’m a grown woman. A kick-ass lawyer. A successful homeowner with a house on the beach. I need to stop being such a baby.

Letting Jake guide her to pier’s edge, she focused on breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

Jake stepped onto the craft. Standing in the cockpit, he reached up his hand. “It’s an easy step.”

Easy? Maybe. It wasn’t as if they were going out on the water. They would be right next to the pier.

Carla grasped his hand, and his fingers captured hers. She focused on the step, placing her foot square in the center, shifting her weight, stepping in with the second foot…

The boat rolled up, then down.

Carla shuddered, a gasp catching in her throat.

Another wave hit, the boat bobbing, Carla’s whole world shifting under her feet.

“Are you oka—”

Carla lurched into his arms, clinging like a desperate kitten. “I have to get off. I have to get off.”

He circled her with strong arms, pulling her against his chest. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t. I have to get back on land, I—”

“Okay. Gotcha.” Jake scooped her up, one arm behind her back and the other under her knees. A second later, and she was back on her feet on the pier, her whole body trembling, tears welling in her eyes.

She blinked them back. “I’m so embarrassed.”

He pulled her close, smoothing her hair out of her eyes, as if he was tending to a child. “Something happened to make you afraid of boats?”

Carla nodded, but it took several seconds before she trusted her voice enough to speak. “I was twelve, staying at my dad’s new place.”

“Your dad was into sailing?”

She could tell he was expecting some kind of tragic story. “It isn’t a big deal, not really.”

“Seems like a big deal to me.”

“It’s not. That’s why I’m embarrassed.” She made herself push out of his embrace and stand under her own power. “I fell.”

“Into the lake?”

“Into Puget Sound.”

“That’s scary.”

“I was wearing a life jacket.”

“Still scary. Puget Sound is a pretty big body of water.”

Carla shivered, remembering the cold waves, the endless tossing, and her so small in the midst of all that water. “There was nothing I could do but float, try to keep my head up, hope my dad would come back. There were big waves. Some fog. I couldn’t see him. I didn’t know if he’d ever find me.”

“Were you out there a long time?”

“It seemed like forever, but my dad said it was only five minutes.”

Carla looked up at him. The evening sun sparkled off the stubble lining his jaw. Jake’s eyes focused squarely on hers, as if he was really listening, really cared. Which had to be nonsense, because Carla knew men. They cared about stocks. And cars. And sports. And snacks. And pretty much everything but women talking about past traumatic experiences.

Jake was a better actor than he gave himself credit for.

“I know,” she said. “It’s lame.”

“Not lame. Sounds pretty terrifying. Have you been afraid of water since?”

“I’m not afraid of water. I like to swim. I love sitting out here on the pier.”

“You just aren’t good on boats.”

“Yeah.” She glanced over at
The Gloria
, and the tremors still seizing her muscles increased.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were afraid of boats? We didn’t have to go out on the lake. I only suggested sailing because you said you were thinking about it. We could drink beer on the deck.”

“If you don’t mind, I’m not much in the mood for hanging out.”

“Because the boat freaked you out? You just said that was lame.”

“Look, I’m just not up for conversation. Is that okay?”

“Is it something I did?”

“No.”

“So what is it?”

“Having a conversation about why I’m not up for conversation makes no sense.”

“All right. Let me walk you back up to the house.”

“You don’t have to, really.”

“I’d like to.”

She braced a hand on his shoulder, controlling the distance between them. “That’s sweet, but I just need to… regroup.”

The only thing she could think about at the moment was getting back inside her house where she could fall apart in private.

“Some other time?”

“Sure. Some other time.”

Carla hurried away, up the pier, across her lawn, and made it inside her solarium before she realized she’d forgotten to tell Jake that she was his eight o’clock client, and that she needed, more than anything, to cancel.

She’d practically had a nervous breakdown in front of this man.

There was no way she was going to pay to get naked in front of him.

No way.

Carla couldn’t relax, tossing and turning in bed as she alternated between self-pity and self-loathing. She finally got to sleep around two in the morning, and had vivid dreams that she was tossing and turning and couldn’t get to sleep. When she woke up, she was exhausted.

Work was awful. Carla had back-to-back meetings all morning, an appeals court ruled against her in the afternoon, and by the time evening rolled around, she found herself stuck in stop-and-go traffic that raised her cortisol to dangerous levels. She just wanted to get home and have a drink. Maybe take up some incredibly mindless hobby that induced a state of zen, like crocheting. That’s what Carla’s mother did when stressed.

The only thing that worked in Carla’s favor all day was that Janet was on a flight to Dallas and wouldn’t be back in Seattle until the next evening, so she wouldn’t have to deal with her. A fact which probably meant Carla wasn’t just a coward, but a bad friend, too.

Leaning back in the seat, she set her radio to a calming adult contemporary station and settled in for a slow torture until she could get past the construction on the highway ahead. The music was familiar, smooth older hits, nothing too hard, too loud, or too challenging.

Just what she needed.

When the music suddenly faded and her cell phone rang through the car speakers via the Bluetooth connection, Carla almost jumped out of her skin.

“Call from Janet,”
her phone’s slightly mechanical voice announced.
“Would you like to answer, or send to voice mail?”

Carla gripped the wheel tighter. If she didn’t answer, she really would be a bad friend. But if she did? Carla didn’t like keeping secrets in personal relationships, and she was especially dismal at hiding her feelings from Janet. The woman had a sixth sense.

“Call from Janet,”
the phone repeated.
“Would you like to answer or send to voice mail?”

Carla blew out a pent-up breath. “Answer.”

The phone’s background tone changed, and Janet’s voice boomed through the car’s interior. “Just checking up on you, babe. Getting ready for your sex date? What are you wearing?”

“I had to work late. Still on my way home. How’s Dallas? Meet any cute cowboys or oil men?”

“Oh no, you are
not
going to change the subject on me. What are you going to wear? It had better not be one of your power bitch suits. How about a skirt? Do you still own a damn skirt? The last time I saw your bare legs was during the Bush administration. The first Bush, not the fuckable one.”

“You’d fuck George W. Bush?”

“I’d fuck the white off his dick. Dumb, powerful guys make me horny.”

“Doesn’t that also apply to his father?”

“Yeah, I’d fuck him, too. A little POTUS sandwich action. I’d be the all-beef patty in their Bush burger.”

“Janet, I’m…”

Her friend didn’t allow her to finish. “You’re going, Carla.”

“I can’t.” To Carla’s shame, her eyes misted, turning the road in front of her blurry. She wiped the moisture away. This wasn’t the right time to lose her shit.

“A little clit torture in the dungeon of pleasure is just what you need. It’ll do wonders for your stress levels. Right now you sound like you could chew through a Formica countertop.”

“No.”

“A granite countertop?”

“No, it’s not work stress.”

“Then what is it?”

Carla spilled the sailboat story from the night before.

“A full-scale freak out?” Janet said, disbelief reverberating through the car’s speakers.

“It was mortifying.”

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment. Disconcerting, since Janet was never quiet.

“I know,” said Carla preemptively. “Maybe I can get by with never seeing him again.”

“Remember the firefighter citizen’s academy I attended?” Janet asked. “The one where they give regular citizens a taste of what it’s like to be a firefighter?

“You signed up to get a taste of the firefighters, if I recall.”

Janet chuckled. “Some of those guys really knew how to use a hose.”

Carla was not in the mood. “Listen Janet, I know you’re busy, and I’m—”

“A lot of the training firefighters do is designed to condition them to face fear, so they don’t freak out when they have to run into that burning building.”

“You think I should sign up for a citizen’s firefighter academy?”

“I think you should keep your appointment with your neighbor’s sin dungeon.”

Carla shook her head. “No way.”

“Come on, Carla. Take a goddamn chance. You don’t want to become one of those women who crochets all day while listening to adult contemporary radio. I gotta go. You’d better have a lot to tell me when I get home.”

The call ended, and the music again filled the car. Soft and soothing, the perfect soundtrack for crocheting. Carla switched the station three times then turned the radio off, driving the rest of the way home in silence.

The first thing she did upon marching into the kitchen was to pull out a bottle of the Pinot she’d failed to share with Jake the night before, wishing she’d picked up more beer instead.

The second thing she did was check the time. Almost eight.

She had only a few minutes to call off her appointment. Or, since Janet hadn’t given Jake her real name, maybe she didn’t have to do anything at all. Maybe she’d just curl up on the sofa, sip her wine, and the entire problem would melt away.

Carla poured a healthy amount of Pinot into a glass and took a sip. Fruit filled her senses, chased by the smack of tannins. She took another drink, more than a sip this time, waiting for the alcohol to calm her nerves, relax her, make the fear and the challenges and the… loneliness go away.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Carla set down the glass and raked her hair back from her face. She’d lived with her fear of boats since she was twelve, but she’d never sought refuge in alcohol or adult contemporary music or inaction. Never in her life. Was she becoming the woman Janet feared she’d be? That she feared she’d be?

Jesus, am I becoming my mother?

Mom just sort of gave up after the divorce. Stopped going out. Stopped dating. Stopped taking any risks. When Mom was younger, she toured the world. Now the furthest place she travelled was the corner store to get more cigarettes.

I love my mother, but I don’t want to be her.

So am I willing to do something about it?

The whole idea was crazy. Insane. Clearly she’d lost her mind. But what was the alternative? She was far too young, far too vibrant, to give in to complacency. Since she was the client, she could tell Jake what she wanted, right? She would be in the driver’s seat. And the experience might just keep her from delving into some yarn-based hobby and wrapping herself up in a safe little cocoon of numbness.

And if the whole thing was a disaster, it wouldn’t be any worse than dates she’d suffered before. She’d end the session and walk out. And no matter what happened, she’d have a story to tell.

Carla downed the rest of her wine. Then before she changed her mind, she marched out the door and across the lawn. When she stepped onto Jake’s porch, her legs were trembling so badly she thought they might fold. She took a deep breath, as if readying for a dive into cold water, and pressed the doorbell.