Dreams of Her Own (5 page)

“Actually, there’s no correlation between a man’s shoe size and his penis size. The average Caucasian penis is five point one inches long when erect.”

This factoid was met with stunned silence, deepening Millie’s flush. “I’ll just go serve lunch,” she muttered as she headed for the kitchen and her escape route. She pressed cool hands to her heated cheeks.
Just shut up with your random facts, Miss Know-it-All.

And speaking of know-it-alls, how did Gloria know
things
? Almost as if she could read your mind.

She had no doubt that Ian could teach her a thing or two. In bed and out. He could provide her with the knowledge and experience she needed to finish her novel. And he served as perfect inspiration for Hugh, her rake-turned-hero.

But of course, just like Kevin Hardy, Ian would never give her a second thought. Which didn’t matter, because not even for the sake of her Get a Life List, would she ever open herself up to that kind of humiliation again.

Chapter 7

Millie had been a sophomore in high school when Kevin Hardy, a junior transfer, sauntered into her life . . . and into her lonely teenager’s heart. He’d come from Southern California, and had the blond surfer hair to prove it. A star quarterback on his former high school football team, he’d come in and taken over for the ailing varsity team.

Tall, muscular, with the beach-boy hair and blue eyes, Kevin caught the eye of every female in the school, and possibly Anthony Rigatelli’s eye. Even Millie, who didn’t pay much attention to boys, wasn’t immune to his smile.

But, awkward at best, she had had no hope of him noticing her, unless being an object of ridicule counted. But two weeks after he’d arrived, he passed her in the cafeteria and smiled at her. And the angels sang.

Then one day, Cassie Olivier of the long blond hair, dazzling teeth, and swimsuit model’s body, and one of the most popular girls in school, sat next to Millie in the library and said, “I have a secret.”

Unclear why Cassie would share a secret with her, Millie simply said, “That’s nice.”

“Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“Well, if it’s a secret should you be telling me?”

“Oh, but this kind of secret needs to be shared.”

Sighing, Millie set aside the copy of
Wuthering Heights
she’d been reading and gave Cassie her full attention.

“Kevin Hardy, like, asked about you.” She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder with a flourish.

“Oh.” Millie’s heart fluttered cautiously in her chest.

“Come on. Aren’t you dying to know what he said?”

Did Marie Curie win two Nobel Prizes? But she kept her you-can’t-hurt-me-no-matter-what-you-say mask in place. “If you want to tell me.” She thought the shoulder shrug was a nice touch.

“He, like, asked who you were, and was all, like, you looked really brainy, and that like, he really dug brainy girls.”

In the midst of counting ‘likes’ Millie’s brain skidded to a halt. Wait. What? Could this be true? Could Kevin Hardy be the one to see past her unappealing exterior to the real Millie inside?

Cassie picked up a lock of Millie’s hair. “You know, you could be, like, really pretty. A little makeup, some cool clothes. He’d, like, totally go for you.” She stood up and glanced in the direction of her friends. “Give it a try. Come to school on Monday ready to impress Kevin, and I’ll set it up.”

“I don’t know . . .” Millie’s hopeful heart wanted to trust Cassie, but the survivalist in her remained cautious. “Why would you help me?”

Cassie shook her hair behind her back. “Call me a matchmaker.”

Millie hesitated.

“Come on, Millie. Don’t you want Kevin to like you?” Cassie prodded.

Suddenly she wanted that more than anything.

Cassie leaned over, grasped Millie’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “You can do it. I’ll see you Monday. The cafeteria. At eight, before the first bell.”

Millie watched as Cassie sauntered back to her friends, closely examined the way she walked, how she carried herself, her shiny, bouncy hair, and her clothes. Millie sighed.
The Book of Matthew
was wrong. The meek don’t inherit the earth. The beautiful do.

I can do this,
she thought. How hard could it be? After all, she had an IQ of one thirty-five.

She used her hard-earned allowance to purchase the latest fashion magazines and took them home, read them cover-to-cover, studied them like she studied chemistry or philosophy, then began searching through her closet and her mother’s for something, anything, she could piece together. Giving up, she hit the thrift store. After that, using a photo of Sarah Michelle Geller–whoever she was–as a guide, she concentrated on makeup, using more of her money at the local Duane Read.

When Monday morning arrived, Millie examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’d brushed her long wavy brown hair and secured it with a headband. After nearly putting out an eye with the mascara wand, she’d managed to get more on her eyelids than her actual lashes. She blinked constantly, feeling as if she’d glued on bristles from her hairbrush, and her lashes scraped against the lenses in her glasses. She’d slathered on sticky, gooey pink lip-gloss, and smeared blush across her cheeks.

Wearing a short denim skirt and a cropped sweater in bubblegum pink, she’d pulled on tights as an afterthought, uncomfortable with showing so much bare leg. She thought the multi-colored striped tights matched the pink in her sweater. On her feet, she wore a pair of Doc Martens-type boots in bright red. At least her feet wouldn’t hurt.

Gnawing on her lip, she wondered if Kevin would like what he saw.

Cassie stood with her friends waving to Millie when she entered the cafeteria. Three of the girls spoke behind their hands and then snickered.

“Millie!” Cassie hauled her to the center of the room. Some of the students were staring at her. “You look awesome! Kevin is going to, like, fall over himself when he sees you. He should be here any minute. Now, stand up straight and smile.”

Cassie’s Barbie Doll friends, Alicia, Nicole, Megan, and Amber—a.k.a. The Mean Girls—stood off to the side whispering and giggling. A bad feeling settled in her stomach.

“Oh! There he is!” Cassie said. “Kevin! Over here, I have someone who wants to meet you.”

Confusion skittered across Kevin’s face, but he made his way over to where Millie stood, her knees practically knocking in fear.

“What’s up, Cassie?”

By now, Millie had become the center of attention. Her face flamed, the makeup itched, and she fought not to fidget.

Cassie’s eyes gleamed. “Kevin, this is Millie Stephens. She’s been dying to meet you. Doesn’t she look amazing?”

“Yeah, if you like clowns!” one of the other Mean Girls shouted.

Cassie and her friends burst out laughing, along with some of the other kids in the cafeteria. Others just looked away, embarrassed for her.

Millie’s stomach knotted as tears filled her eyes, and she bit down on her lip until she tasted blood to hold the sob in.

To his credit, Kevin didn’t laugh. In fact, he glowered at Cassie and said, “Cassie, you are such a bitch.”

He turned back to Millie with pity in his eyes, but before he could say anything, Millie spun around and ran out the closest door and she didn’t stop until she’d hit Yellowstone Park, where she slid down behind a tree and sobbed with all the pain and heartache of a young girl who just didn’t fit in. And the truth was, she never would.

Millie didn’t know what was worse. Cassie’s cruelty, or Kevin’s pity.

She vowed she’d never do anything to attract attention to herself again. From that day forward, she’d become the invisible Millie Stephens.

The next day, Ian dashed down Darcy’s stairs pulling o
n his jacket as he went.
Damn drill.
The last thing he wanted was to go out into the freezing rain for a drill bit.

“Oh, Ian,” Darcy called after him.

Stopping in his tracks, he turned around, “Yes?”

“How about a hot bowl of soup?”

He glanced to the back of the house and out the window at the misty rain swirling around in the icy wind. He hated that kind of rain. The kind that floated through the air finding its way into every gap and crevice between you and your clothes, chilling you to the bone.

“Soup, huh?”

“Yeah, homemade lasagna soup.” Darcy flashed him a cheerful grin. She knew she had him, and she’d be right. In fact, she’d had him at soup.

The drill bit could wait. “Smells amazing.” Removing his jacket he followed Darcy into the cozy kitchen.

“Have a seat,” Darcy said as she chatted away. “I had a burst of energy and a craving for carbs, meat, and cheese. Homemade lasagna soup fit the bill.” She ladled heaping spoonfuls of curly lasagna noodles and ground beef in a rich tomato broth into a bowl, making his mouth water and his stomach growl. Then she topped it off with a healthy dose of shredded mozzarella cheese.

She brought the bowl over, set it in front of him, and walked back to the stove to repeat the process. “I love to cook, but ever since I got pregnant I’ve been sick and the smell of food cooking . . . Well, let’s just say it wasn’t very appetizing.”

After filling another bowl, she stepped into the hallway, “Millie! Come eat.” Setting the bowl on the table across from Ian, she circled back to the stove once more. For someone so pregnant, she moved with efficiency.

“Why are you—” Millie stood at the kitchen threshold, mouth slightly agape. Today she was swathed in a thick brown sweater, the too-long sleeves hanging over her hands, her fingertips barely peeking out the end, and some nondescript brown pants.

Come to think of it, it was the first time he’d seen her in anything besides a baggy dress, brown stockings, and brown orthopedic shoes. His gaze drifted lower. Check that, she still wore the orthopedic shoes.

“Come eat while it’s hot,” Darcy reminded her.

She closed her mouth and took a step forward, her brow furrowed in confusion as she stared at the empty chair across from him. He watched as several emotions crossed her face, indecision, insecurity, then resolve, before she finally decided to take a seat.

Ian shoveled a spoonful of noodles into his mouth, closed his eyes, and released a low hum of pleasure.

“Good, huh?” Darcy asked with a grin.

“Oh yeah.”

“I could give you the recipe.”

At Ian’s skeptical expression, she continued, “It’s so easy even Josh can make it. And believe me, if Josh can make it, anyone can.” She slurped up a spoonful of noodles herself.

He liked Darcy. Her cheerful energy always left him feeling a little brighter. She was going to make a great mom.

Ian glanced at Millie, who’d yet to take a bite of her meal and looked as if she’d entered a snake pit.

Millie watched Ian. When he had released that hum, she’d felt it al
l the way down to her toes, which had curled up in her shoes.

Notwithstanding her factoid outburst in front of Darcy and Gloria yesterday, she had a sudden compulsion to check out the size of Ian’s feet. Letting her napkin slip to the floor, she leaned over to pick it up and surreptitiously inspected Ian’s work-boot-clad feet.

“Millie? Why aren’t you eating? Aren’t you hungry?” Darcy asked.

Millie sat up, replacing her napkin in her lap and casting a glance at Ian.

His eyes sparkled as he mouthed, “Size thirteen.”

Tristan and Isolde!
He’d overheard her conversation with Gloria and Darcy? Heat flooded her face, and with shaking hands, she picked up her glass of water and took a gulp. She longed to hold the cool glass to her hot face.

“Eat up, Millie, before it gets cold,” Darcy cajoled again.

Obediently picking up her spoon, she studiously avoided looking across the table at her male lunch companion and took her first bite. It
was
delicious. Especially since she’d forgotten to eat breakfast that morning. She’d been so engrossed in Darcy’s latest manuscript, which had included a particularly instructive sex scene, that the next thing she knew Darcy was calling her to lunch.

A wave of chagrin passed over her. She needed to pay more attention to Darcy. She shouldn’t have let her cook this lunch. Although she did appear to be feeling better, she thought, eyeing her boss. She had color in her cheeks and a good appetite if the way she was devouring the soup was any indication.

Cutting her gaze back to Ian, she observed his disheveled hair, the day’s stubble covering his lean jaw, his gray eyes, and his mouth. Who would have thought a man’s mouth could be so . . . sensual. Ian glanced up, caught her staring, and the corner of that sensual mouth tilted up ever-so-slightly.

Prying her eyes off him, she turned to Darcy, “You’re feeling better,” she blurted out.

“Yes. I’m finally feeling human again,” Darcy said, wiping her lips with her napkin.

“Good. Don’t forget your interview this afternoon.”

“I won’t. My publicist scored an interview for me in
Wine Enthusiast Magazine
, since my latest series is set in Sonoma and Napa Valleys around winemaking,” she explained to Ian with a gleeful shrug.

Ian nodded, picking up his glass of water and draining it in one gulp.

Millie noticed how his strong hand grasped the glass, and how his Adam’s apple moved with every swallow. Fascinated, she had this absurd desire to put her mouth there. Against his warm, unshaven skin . . . Giving herself a mental shake, she passed off her uncharacteristic preoccupation to reading too much about sex, between
The Joy of Sex
and Darcy’s scenes. Reciting the Constitution’s preamble to herself helped.

Taking a deep breath to clear her mind of these images, she inhaled a noodle. Or a piece of meat. Something. It didn’t budge when she attempted to swallow. Gasping for breath, she reached for her water glass, but in her haste, knocked it over. Then the asphyxiation began in earnest. Spots appeared in her vision, just before it began to tunnel. Death by soup. Not the way she wanted to go.

“Millie? You okay? Did it go down the wrong pipe?” Darcy rose with alarm, but Ian was faster. He hauled Millie out of her chair and performed the Heimlich maneuver on her. One squeeze, and out popped a chunk of ground beef, landing right back in her bowl of soup.

Air filled her lungs as mortification filled her soul. She coughed again, her esophagus spasming, and tears ran down her face.

Ian still held her against his lean, hard body. “Better?” His warm breath tickled her ear, his arms two steel bands around her. She longed to stay, yet longed to flee.

She nodded. All she was capable of doing at the moment, as her esophagus continued to spasm.

He finally released her, gently setting her feet back on the floor, then pulled her chair out for her. She shook her head. “Thank you.” Her voice came out in a raspy whisper. “Please excuse me.”