About That Fling (13 page)

Adam hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking until someone bumped him from behind. Even then, he stood frozen in place. Something twisted in his gut, and he stood there transfixed, his eyes on Jenna and the man she’d once planned to spend the rest of her life with. How long ago was it?

She must have felt his eyes on her then, and she looked up. She didn’t seem startled at all to see Adam watching her. She blinked slowly, then looked down at her hand. The other man’s palm still covered it, and she seemed to hesitate a moment. Then she drew her other hand up and placed it on top of his.

A hand sandwich,
Adam thought absurdly, then turned away. He stepped out into the rainy Portland evening, wishing like hell he’d had the pizza delivered.

An hour later, Adam sat shirtless in his boxer shorts on sheets too clean to be truly comfortable. He’d polished off his pizza and felt a little sick. He was pretty sure it was just the pepperoni, but who was he kidding? The image of Jenna with that other guy kept flashing through his brain, which was stupid. He had no right to be jealous. No right to judge her for reconnecting with a man she’d loved enough to agree to marry at one point.

The idea of getting back together with Mia seemed ridiculous to him now, but there’d been a time he would have considered it. Could he blame Jenna for doing the same with her ex?

He picked up the remote and began flipping through channels, trying to get the image of her out of his mind. QVC was selling some sort of kebab maker that caught Adam’s interest for at least twenty minutes. One of the
Rocky
movies—was it IV or V?—flickered on the next channel. He flipped the remote button again, feeling irritated. Did MTV even play music anymore?

Adam sighed and set the remote down. None of it was any match for the image of Jenna’s eyes meeting his from across the room, the sight of her fingers entwined with someone else’s.

He needed to get the fuck over it; that was obvious. There was at least another month left in his contract with Belmont, maybe longer, but he could at least do a better job of keeping her out of his field of vision. Out of his thoughts.

Grabbing the remote, he flipped off the television, then picked up his laptop. He opened up the folder containing all his materials for the Belmont negotiations. The screen lit up with an Excel spreadsheet he’d been working on earlier, and he reached for his glasses. Shoving them onto his nose, he began making notes in the file. He’d have to remember to talk with Human Resources about some changes in the dental plan, and he needed to crunch a few numbers on some proposed changes to the ETO system. That was going to be a contentious discussion, especially with the folks from the nurses’ union.

He made a note to talk with the CEO about the legal ramifications of—

What the hell was he doing?

He frowned, staring down at the spreadsheet. Working late on a Friday night? This is what the old Adam Thomas would do. He’d stay up late crunching numbers and planning strategies instead of doing something fun or engaging. Instead of going home to his wife.

Okay, so there was no wife now. He was glad about that, but it didn’t mean he had free license to behave like a workaholic jerk. Closing out the file, he clicked to his Internet browser. He ignored the Facebook icon, not giving in to the ridiculous urge to look up Jenna or her linebacker boyfriend. He hesitated a moment, then scrolled to his favorite travel website and began browsing.

How long had it been since he’d taken a vacation? Hawaii would be nice this time of year, or maybe somewhere in the Caribbean. He thought about tropical drinks and warm, sandy beaches. About palm trees swaying in the breeze and calypso music lilting across the bay. About Jenna in a bikini and—

No. Focus, dammit.

Maybe a vacation was exactly what he needed. Something to reset his clock, give him some new perspective on life. Maybe he could take up scuba diving or bird watching.

A knock sounded at the door, bursting in on his thoughts. He frowned down at his watch. Who the hell would stop by at eight on a Friday evening? No one even knew he was here.

He rolled out of bed, not bothering to pull on a shirt or pants. Anyone bold enough to knock on a stranger’s hotel room door after dark on a Friday evening could damn well deal with the sight of him in Batman boxers.

Adam pulled the door open and froze. Jenna stood there in the hallway, her hair matted and rain soaked, her hands clenched in front of her. Her mascara was streaked from rain or from tears, and she looked ready to break in two.

“Jenna?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and launched herself into his arms.

C
hapte
r
E
ight

Adam staggered backward, surprised by the force with which Jenna hurled herself at him. He felt his arms go around her without any thought to whether it was a good idea, what she was even doing here.

“Jenna? Are you okay?”

“Mmmphwalawonwugoo,” she murmured against his chest, and it felt so good to have her cradled there that he didn’t really give a damn whether he understood a word she was saying. She was soggy and cold and the best damn thing he’d ever felt in his life.

He held her for a moment longer, not sure whether to close the door to offer some privacy, or stand here holding her until she decided to tell him what the hell was going on. He should probably put on some clothes, but somehow it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“What are you sorry for, Jenna?” he asked, and felt her stir in his arms. “Did something happen?”

She shook her head and drew back, and Adam felt the absence of her warm breath on his chest. “I tried to make myself feel something for Sean,” she said. “He held my hand, and I let him, and it felt so good to have someone touching me that way and when he asked me to come back to his place I started thinking about how good it would feel to—”

She broke off there, scrubbing at her eyes in a way that made the mascara streaks look like war paint. Her gaze drifted from his face down to his chest and seemed to freeze there. He waited, not sure what etiquette called for. He should definitely get dressed.

“Hang on, let me grab a shirt.”

“No!” She put a hand out to touch his chest, a gesture that seemed to startle them both. “I mean, don’t do it on my account.”

“Okay.” He ran his hands through his hair and tried to remember what they’d been talking about. “So you slept with your ex and now you feel even more awkward about the whole thing?”

“No! I didn’t sleep with him.” She took a shaky breath and met his eyes again. “I said I thought about it, but I couldn’t. I just
couldn’t
. And the next thing I knew I was bawling and blabbering to him about how I needed to come find you and apologize, so that’s what I’m doing now. Apologizing.”

He frowned, not sure he was following her line of thought. “For what?”

“For blowing you off. For not introducing you to Sean or inviting you to join us for dinner. For holding hands with my goddamn ex.”

“You don’t owe me an apology for any of that, Jenna. You were reconnecting with someone you cared about. You and I aren’t dating. Hell, we’re pretending not to even know each other that well. You’re free to sleep with your ex anytime you want.”

Those last words came out stilted, and they tasted bad on his tongue. He felt relieved when she shook her head.

“That’s just it, I don’t want to sleep with him.
Fuck!
” She raked her hands through her hair, making weird wet rows around her face that gave her a beautifully crazed appearance. “I want to sleep with you, but obviously that’s not possible, and the whole thing made me think about how I’d feel if you slept with
your
ex—I mean, forget the fact that she’s married to someone else—”

“Seems fair, since she managed to forget it when she was married to me.”

Adam could have kicked himself for the bitterness in his own tone, but Jenna just shook her head.

“I thought about how I’d feel if you slept with an ex. Or anyone, really. I didn’t like it, Adam. I didn’t like it at all.”

He nodded, not sure what he was supposed to say, but pretty sure he was underdressed for any sort of serious conversation. For that matter, Jenna wasn’t very well attired either, and she was dripping puddles of rainwater on the floor beside his door. She shivered, and Adam felt goose bumps prickle his own skin. A breeze drifted through the open door, so Adam pushed it shut, hopeful it wouldn’t make her feel trapped.

“Look, first things first. You’re soaked to the bone.” He fingered a damp strand of her hair, knowing he shouldn’t go any further with touching her. Not yet. Not while she was this upset. “What did you do, go for a swim in the Willamette?”

“No,” she said. “I just started walking, not really going anywhere, and then I got caught in the rain and I realized I was standing right in front of your hotel. I started feeling guilty, but I couldn’t decide whether to come up or not, so I ended up standing out there a lot longer than I meant to.”

“How did you find my room anyway?”

She shrugged. “You said you had a suite with a kitchen, and all of those are on the tenth floor. From there, I just started knocking. I’m pretty sure the guy in the room next door thinks I’m a hooker.”

“A hooker with a bad sense of direction and a habit of forgetting to take her clothes off before showering. Come on. Let’s find you something dry to put on.”

She shot a nervous glance around the room, seeming to realize for the first time that she’d landed herself in a room alone with him and a bed. She stood motionless for a moment, then stepped forward, hands at her sides. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, moving to the bureau beside the bed. He pulled open the drawer where he’d stuffed his gym clothes, thankful she’d caught him just a couple days after he’d done laundry. He grabbed a pair of workout pants and a sweatshirt, along with a thick pair of socks. He handed them to her and shivered as his fingers brushed her frigid knuckles. “Here, try these. Bathroom’s right over—”

Jenna yanked her sweater over her head, and Adam lost track of whatever the hell he’d been about to say. She wore a pink bra made sheer by the rain, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away as she reached between her shoulder blades to unhook it.

“—or you can just change right here.”

She smiled and gave a small shrug. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it before,” she said, turning her back to him as the bra dropped to the floor. “I’m sure my aunt would say this is what a sex goddess would do.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, too transfixed to come up with anything smarter than that.

She pulled the sweatshirt over her head, making Adam dizzy with the thought of those lovely bare breasts pressing against the soft fleece of his favorite college sweatshirt. “Besides,” she said, “it seems fair considering you’re standing there wearing nothing but your boxers.”

“Very team spirited of you.”

“Thanks. I’ve been working with a mediator on my team-building skills.”

She toed off her clogs and reached for the button on her jeans. Adam hesitated, wondering if she wanted him to watch. Hell, he’d pointed out the bathroom, so she had privacy if she needed it. He gave up wrestling with the etiquette and just stared openly, transfixed by the sight of her peeling her wet jeans down those pale, flawless legs. He stood mesmerized as she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties.

“You’re staring.”

“You want me to stop?”

“No. I figure I owe you. For the photo the other night. And for answering the door looking exactly like you did in the picture.”

He laughed. “In case you wondered if I had my team of Photoshop experts airbrush the shot before I sent it to you?”

She shook her head and wriggled out of her panties. His sweatshirt hung to midthigh on her, which prevented the whole thing from being a strip show. This was hotter somehow. Less staged, more intimate.

“You definitely don’t need any airbrushing,” she said.

“Neither do you.”

Jenna pulled the sweats on, rolling them a few times at the waist so she wouldn’t trip on the cuffs. She pulled the socks on, then ran her fingers through her hair. Adam shook off the haze of the last few minutes to turn toward the bathroom. He grabbed her a clean towel, and while he was there, spotted another pair of workout pants on the floor. Tugging them on over his boxers, he returned to the room and handed her the towel.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No, thank you. Definitely the highlight of my week.”

She grinned. “Leave your shirt off and I’ll be able to say the same.”

He watched as she began scrubbing the towel over her head. She wandered over to sit on the edge of the bed, and Adam stood there, not sure what his next move should be. Did he join her? Give her space?

The hell with wondering. If he’d learned nothing else as a counselor, it was the benefit of direct communication.

“What are we doing here, Jenna?”

She pulled the towel away from her face and sighed. “Trying to remember why it’s a bad idea to sleep together?”

He smiled, pleased she didn’t try to play games or pretend she didn’t understand the question. “It feels different when we’re behind closed doors, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, and Adam made his way over to the foot of the bed. He sat down beside her, enjoying the warmth of her shoulder brushing his arm. His bare foot touched her sock-covered one, and the intimacy of it made something inside him twist into a big, glowing knot. He hesitated, then put his hand on her knee. It felt comfortable there, the curve of her kneecap fitting perfectly into his palm.

He turned to look at her and felt his heart lodge in his throat. She’d wiped off most of the mascara, so her face was bare and lovely. Her eyes met his, and he tried to remember if he’d ever seen such a deep shade of blue anywhere else. What was the word for it? Azure? Cobalt? Cerulean? Where was the fucking Crayola box when he needed it?

“You’re staring again.” Her voice was breathy and soft, and he knew she was thinking the same damn thing he was. He ached to kiss her. Every atom in his body screamed with the need to slide his fingers into her damp hair, to tip her chin up so their mouths fit together and their knees bumped on the edge of the bed.

“If I kiss you right now, we know where this will end up.” His voice didn’t sound like his voice, but that seemed okay somehow.

Jenna nodded. “I know.”

“So it seems we have two choices here. Option one, I put your wet clothes in a bag, shake your hand, and send you on your way home.” He swallowed, wondering how it was possible to feel this warm with only half his clothes on. “Option two, we undo all this fine work we’ve just put into donning clothing and I take you in my arms and kiss you until neither of us can breathe. The gentleman in me says the latter isn’t a good idea, since you’re a little upset.”

“I’m not upset. Not anymore.”

“Okay,” Adam said. “Which do you choose?”

She was silent a moment, her eyes dark and needy. He waited, not wanting to rush her, knowing whatever they decided would change everything. Jenna licked her lips, and Adam nearly groaned with desire.

“I choose option three,” she whispered.

“Option three?”

“Option three. You kiss me once. Only once, and with both of us remaining upright and fully clothed.”

“Okay.”

“Then we agree that even if we can’t make love, we seem to be drawn to each other for some reason. So maybe we should just explore that friendship and connection in the most platonic, unromantic way we can think of.”

“Unromantic?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure. Shoveling dog doo for my neighbor?”

“That’s certainly unromantic, though it might be a little late for that. You and I might get a ride in a squad car if your neighbor spotted two strangers roaming his backyard in the dark with shovels.”

“Okay then.” She frowned in concentration. “How about algebra?”

“I just closed out a spreadsheet, so that’s too much like work. We could watch a documentary on bizarre medical procedures.”

“What about a robust discussion of Marxist philosophies of dialectical materialism?”

“Now you’re just getting me hot again.”

“I know!” Jenna jumped up so fast she nearly knocked Adam backward on the bed. “Let’s shoot guns!”

“Guns?”

“Yes. That’s unromantic.”

“Absolutely, but it’s also illegal. At least in the city limits. Or were you planning to rob a liquor store? I think that’s an entirely different level of illegal.”

“No, not like that,” she said, bouncing excitedly in the wool socks. “At a shooting range. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Adam glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s eight thirty on a Friday night. Where are you going to find a shooting range that’s open?”

“Oh, please—it’s Portland, Oregon. The weirdness capital of the world. You can wander out at midnight and get a bacon-wrapped donut, take your dog into a bar, and see a parade of naked cyclists all on the same block. I’m positive we can find an open shooting range. Actually, I think it might be ladies’ night at Guns-a-Go-Go.”

“In case it escaped your attention, I’m not a lady.”

“Trust me, it didn’t escape my attention.” She shot a pointed look at his crotch before smiling up at him. “You’re still allowed, you just have to pay a little extra for your ammo. Have you ever been to a shooting range?”

“No,” he said, a little surprised to realize they were even having this discussion. “Not really my idea of a great date.”

“Exactly! That’s why it’s perfect.” She clapped her hands together, looking so giddy with excitement that Adam had to laugh.

“Okay, fine. A shooting range. Aren’t you forgetting one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“The kiss. The one we’re exchanging just to get it out of the way in hopes it’ll be awful and we’ll have the closure we need to move forward with our platonic friendship.”