Rachel Gibson - Not Another Bad Date

“No.” She glanced behind her, but no one was out and about but her and Zach. “She made my life hell.”

“You weren’t the only one.”

She wondered if Devon had made Zach’s life hell, too. “No matter what I think of Devon, or of you, Tiffany seems like a nice girl. She’s been really sweet to Kendra at a very difficult time in my niece’s life.”

“Tiffany is a nice girl.” His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare over her head. “I didn’t know she was worried about growing a mustache, and I thought she could talk to me about whatever’s on her mind. I guess there are some things she feels uncomfortable talking over with her dad.” He finally looked at her. “If she says anything else, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”

Adele nodded. “I lost my mother when I was ten, so I know how she feels.”

“That’s right. You told me that at UT.” His gaze slid to her mouth and down the front of her shirt. His voice got really low, his drawl more pronounced when he said, “I’ve got something for you.”

She didn’t think she wanted to know what he had for her. It might be something she hadn’t had in a long time. Something she really wanted but really shouldn’t want. She frowned to cover up her confusion. “Grow up, Zach.”

He looked at her for several moments, then said, “Sweetheart, you have a dirty mind.”

She placed a hand on her chest. “Me?” Before she could respond further, the front door opened, and Tiffany moved from the porch and down the steps.

“You ready?” Zach asked, the hot lazy drawl gone from his voice.

“Yep.” Tiffany hung her backpack over one shoulder and opened the Cadillac’s passenger door. “Thanks for taking me to Dillard’s.”

“You’re welcome.” She placed her hand on Tiffany’s shoulder. “And just remember something. Being a late bloomer might suck right now, but when you’re thirty, you’ll look twenty-five, and all your friends will be jealous.”

For the first time in years, Zach dreamed of Devon. In the dream, he was back at UT, walking alone from the tunnel at Texas Memorial Stadium. The sound of his cleats echoed off the concrete and the helmet in his hand bumped his thigh. His footsteps slowed, then stopped as he noticed Devon standing at the big gaping entrance wearing the Chanel suit he’d buried her in.

“Hello, Zach.”

A heavy, suffocating weight settled in his chest.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Why are you here?”

She flipped her blond hair and leveled her green gaze on him. “I’m pregnant.” She smiled and placed a hand on her flat stomach. “You’re going to be a daddy.”

The heavy, suffocating weight squeezed his lungs and closed his throat. He woke up gasping for air; his heartbeat pounding in his head. The quilt felt like lead, holding him down, and he pushed it off. He sat on the edge of the bed, never so glad to be awake in his life.

“What a fucking nightmare.” He stood and walked through the dark room toward the bathroom. The carpet beneath his feet changed to heated tiles, and he moved past the dais with the big spa tub. Moonlight shone down on him from the domed skylight windows as he pulled himself out of his boxer briefs and used the toilet. The last time he’d dreamed of Devon, she’d come back from the dead to yell at him for trying to divorce her. He preferred those dreams to this latest.

He tucked himself back into his underwear and flushed the toilet. He didn’t know why Devon had popped up in his dream to tell him she was pregnant, he was just damn glad he’d woken up, and it hadn’t been real.

The overhead moonlight ran down his spine and behind as he moved beneath the skylights to the bedroom. He thought back fourteen years when Devon had tracked him down at the house he’d lived in with a couple of football buddies. She’d told him she was pregnant. She’d conceived the last time they’d been together. Just a few days before he’d broken up with her.

“I’m not one of those girls who has children out of wedlock, Zach. I won’t do it.” She crossed her arms over her chest, the implication clear.

As he’d looked at her standing there, a girl he’d once loved, he’d felt as if his life was slipping through his fingers like sand. There was only one thing he could do.

He’d done the right thing.

Goose bumps broke out across his chest as he moved through the house to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He reached inside and pulled out a gallon of milk. Within the glow of bright light, he drank straight from the container.

He’d been raised to do the right thing. There’d never really been a choice, but it hadn’t been easy. Marrying Devon because she was having his baby caused problems from the beginning.

He lowered the carton and sucked milk from his top lip. One of the biggest problems had been that he’d always wondered if the pregnancy had been an accident or if Devon had stopped taking her pills on purpose. Then a few years before her death, she’d admitted that she’d stopped taking them. They’d been arguing about their lack of a sex life, and she’d wanted to make him mad.

“Yes, I quit taking them. I admit it. They made me fat,” she’d said. “You always wondered and now you know.”

“You should have told me.”

“What does it matter now?” she’d asked, and she was right. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter fourteen years ago, ten years ago, or even now. Accident or no, he’d married her. She’d given him a beautiful daughter, and he’d never been sorry about that.

He shoved the carton in the refrigerator and shut the door. He loved Tiffany, but there’d never been another accident. He’d made sure of it.

The last thing he wanted was another marriage with a woman he didn’t love and couldn’t trust. He’d been there and done that, and it had sucked.

Friday at five, Adele put Kendra on a bus and waved good-bye. The dance team, with its six female chaperones, was headed to San Antonio and wasn’t expected back until Sunday afternoon. Almost two whole days of freedom, and she was looking forward to the peace and quiet.

She watched the bus drive away, then stopped by the hospital to visit Sherilyn. Her sister had been feeling restless and bored, so Adele bought a nail file, foot lotion, some red polish, and gave them both pedicures. She stayed for a few hours, then returned to the condo and sank into the jetted tub with her friend Lucy Rothschild’s latest mystery novel. A few years ago, Lucy had been the number one suspect in a serial-killer case. The detective assigned to investigate Lucy had fallen in love with her, and they’d married.

Adele sank lower into the tub and cherry-blossom-scented bubbles slid across her shoulders. She’d pulled her hair up onto the top of her head with a dreaded scrunchie. Sometimes there was nothing better than a good hot soak and a wonderful book. She stayed in the tub until the water cooled and the bubbles disappeared, then she got out and wrapped a towel around herself.

The condo was so quiet, which was more odd than relaxing. This surprised her, since she’d lived alone for a lot of years and had never found it weird before. She dried off and dressed in one of her white T-shirts and white panties. As she pulled on a pair of fluffy pink monkey socks, the doorbell rang, and she grabbed her black waffle robe.

She didn’t know who it could be, but hoped it wasn’t Joe with another offer of a skin sandwich.

It wasn’t. Adele looked through the peephole at Zach standing on her porch, light shining in his hair and lighting up the left side of his breathtakingly handsome face. A flush of prickling heat traveled up her spine and settled between her shoulders. She knew without a doubt, opening the door would be a very bad idea.

He reached forward and rang the bell again. He hit it three times in a row and she reached for the dead bolt. She swung the door open, and Zach stood before her, wearing a blue fleece REI jacket and a pair of worn jeans. His gaze lowered from her face, down her black robe, to her feet.

“Nice socks.”

“Thanks.”

His gaze climbed back up her body. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Then what took you so long to answer the door? Were you deciding whether or not to let me in?”

“I’m still deciding.”

He smiled with one corner of his lips. “Invite me in.”

That was not a good idea.

“I have something for you, and I don’t want to pull it out right here.”

Her mouth dropped open. “If you reach for your fly, I swear to God I’m calling the cops.”

He rolled his eyes. “Jesus.” He reached into the pocket of his fleece and pulled out her white bra. “I believe this is yours.”

She reached for it, but he held it up just out of her grasp. “Where did you get that?”

“Floor in the girls’ bathroom. I thought you might want it back.”

She held out one hand. “I do.”

“You have something that’s mine. We’ll swap.”

“What?”

“My coach’s hat.”

She pulled her robe tight around herself and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “You don’t have another hat?”

“Sure, but that one’s lucky. We’re thirteen and oh, and I’m not going to screw that up tomorrow afternoon against Amarillo by wearing a different hat.”

“If I let you in, are you going to behave?”

He held up his hands like he was as harmless as a Boy Scout. Her bra hanging from his fingers by one strap ruined the picture of innocence.

She swung the door open, and he stepped inside. “You couldn’t have called first?”

“Don’t have your number.”

That was true. “Your hat’s in the baby’s room.” She turned, and the heavier thud of his boots on the wood floor followed close behind her. They walked into the room filled with the small desk, her laptop, and boxes of baby furniture.