Hot Spot (18 page)

DANNY ALMOST DRAGGED her back. But he wasn't completely witless yet, although two nights of mind-blowing sex with her had definitely brought him to the edge. He exhaled slowly, inhaled, and told himself to get a grip. No way was he going to get into an argument over his women friends. He glanced at the lights of Dominic's and debated going back inside. There was plenty of diversion there if he wanted it.

But did he?

Good question.

One he wouldn't have had to ponder a few days ago when his tastes were simple.

What the hell. It was late. He was tired. He wasn't in the mood for revenge sex.

But he walked down the main street before returning to his truck, giving Stella time to get home. Don't ask him why; he didn't have an answer. And then like a stupid kid, he drove by her house. Christ, he must be losing it.

The house was dark; she was tucked away in bed already.

As if he cared, he told himself.

He hit the gas.

The last thing he needed was some bitch giving him a hard time.

ON HER WALK HOME STELLA HAD HAD AMPLE TIME to scrutinize her taste in men, and she'd come to the con-clusion that she'd been right in the first place. Men like Danny Rees were nothing but trouble. The Reeses of the world lived thoroughly selfish, me-first lives that revolved around their every whim. And in his case, because he didn't have a
real
job, he was able to indulge himself even more than most Peter Pan men. That was another thing. Her mother would freak if she was sleeping with a drug dealer.

Let's face it: he could say all he wanted about designing video games, but if he was really making a living at it, he would have mentioned the names of the games. Not that she was familiar with game titles, but her kids at the store knew every one since the beginning of time. In fact, Ryan Kath was busy trying to design a video game and, knowing him, he might actually do it. She should ask him if he knew anyone in the neighborhood who had a hit game. Video games were like pop fiction or top ten music. If you had a winner, people knew about it. And Danny's name wasn't on anyone's celebrity list in her store.

So… realistically, she probably could discount that little line—"I design video games."

Also, women like Kirsty and those boat bunnies tonight were always friendly with drug dealers; what better place to score free dope? In fact, Danny's damned fabulous performance in bed probably had something to do with Ecstasy. Duh. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

By the time she reached home, she'd pretty much convinced herself that the unvarnished truth about Danny Rees didn't add up to a guy one would take home to dinner. Not that she was looking; it was pure labeling. So with all her priorities in place, now all she had to do, she reflected, climbing the stairs to her front yard, was convince her addicted senses that sexual gratification was no big thing.

Damn, though. Wasn't that the way it goes.

You think you have a hand on nirvana, and it's all an illusion.

But what the hay, she had some really fine memories— sex-wise. And that wasn't so bad.

She only thought of Danny Rees ten thousand times while getting ready for bed—down from twenty earlier in the day. She was practically cured.

Now if only she didn't have to sleep in the same bed they'd just made love in, forgetting him might be within the realm of possibility. Thank God the store opened early on week days. After the kids poured in, she wouldn't have as much time to fixate on him.

Climbing into bed, she wondered if she'd be able to sleep a wink.

But after two busy days and busier nights, she dozed off immediately, slept like the dead, and came awake to a ringing phone.

"Sorry to call so early, but you won't believe what Deloitte did this weekend. He went on TV and lied about my policy toward the so-called healthy forest logging in the state park. I could kill him! Are you there? Are you alive? Do I have the wrong number?"

"I'm here," Stella murmured, lying on her stomach, squinting at the clock. Seven-thirty. "Run that by me again. I'm still half asleep."

Megan repeated her comments along with additional phrases from the local TV talk show that she'd taped and had practically memorized since yesterday. "Where have you been? I tried calling you last night."

"I must have turned down the phone." Danny had turned it off, but she wasn't about to reveal any irrelevant details, because that relationship was over. Completely. Dead. Kaput.

"The reason I called—I barely slept last night—was that I'd like you to design my green campaign signs earlier so they could help answer these baseless charges. It just burns me that someone can outright lie about you and get away with it. I'm pissed— really pissed—and I want to refute this ass's comments from the rooftops."

"I'll do it today."

"Thanks, sweetie. Go back to sleep. I'll talk to you later. I'll come over after the kids go to their game day at the park. We can brainstorm."

Brainstorming would mean she'd have to dislodge Danny Rees's image from her brain, where it was taking up most of the space, but Stella politely said, "Come over any time. I'm here."

"Thanks. You're a rock."

"That's me," Stella blithely lied, when she found herself shaky within seconds of waking—due to an apparently mega-addiction to sex with Danny Rees. "Bring muffins and a latte." Comfort food in place of sex.

"Muffins aren't good for you. Carbs, sugar, trans fats."

"Just bring two then. I'll taper off."

As Stella stretched to hang up the phone, her gaze fell on some little pink rabbit ears peeking out from under the bed. She groaned. Reminders of last night she didn't need. Not when her addiction was requiring a serious fix. Jerking away from the edge of the bed, she rolled over and caught sight of her sketch page of Danny-cum-super hero that she'd tossed on her bedside table. Oops, not good, either. There was Danny Rees's face smiling at her. She shut her eyes, counted to ten, then twenty, trying to do that zen thing where you concentrate on the number, visualize it, and rid your brain of everything but the image of the number. As if. By the time she got to twenty-two, she was daydreaming about having sex with the man who unfortunately was also the dream date of all those women at Dominic's last night, which meant if she wanted any more action from him, she'd better get in line. And after her bitchy leave-taking last night, even getting in line might not suffice. She'd probably have to frigging apologize.

Not likely that.

She had a drawer full of sex toys. She could take care of herself.

Female pride. Rah, rah, rah.

Jumping out of bed, deliberately not glancing at the rabbit ears, she quickly dressed and brought her Marky B drawings and a fresh sketch pad down to the store. Better to distance herself from her bedroom, rely on denial and displacement, and transpose her unwanted yearnings to Marky B and her fight for justice. Perhaps it might be time to get rid of Marky's new sidekick. Have him killed off in some heroic struggle for freedom. There was no need to be ubernasty. After all, Danny Rees couldn't be faulted for his capacity to give pleasure on demand, every which way.

Do. Not. Go. There
. Recollections of inexplicable bliss were forbidden. Walks down memory lane were for those more naive than she. She was strong. She was woman. She was invincible. Damn! Where were her caffeine and muffins when she
needed them for personal and spiritual strength
?

Ryan Kath suddenly swam into her field of vision, banged on the door window as if she wasn't looking straight at him, and signaled her to open up. Her savior had appeared as if by magic—in the guise of a skinny, gawky kid with a scowl.

Opening the door, she resisted the impulse to throw her arms around him and cause him to run for his life. She smiled instead. "You're up early."

"I came over to work on that video game."

Maybe he wasn't a complete savior—what with that video game allusion. But he was a body. He could talk. Hey, it beat reviewing the constant round of Rees images looping through her brain. "That video game book's probably still on the table in the back. Did you have breakfast? Need a cookie or some instant oatmeal?"

He looked at her from under his long eyelashes—his best feature, although he wouldn't care to hear the girlie compliment. "Do I look like I eat oatmeal?"

"It's supposed to be good for you."

"Do you eat it?"

"Sometimes." She was probably ten the last time she ate it, but she always bought some just in case the urge for good nutrition struck her. "What kind of cookie do you want?"

"An everything one. Thanks."

Ryan always thanked her when she fed him or gave him some comics or helped him navigate the minefield of his home life. He didn't get effusive. It was always that single word—thanks. But she knew he meant it. She handed him a cookie and an orange juice from her cooler case. "How's it going with the game?"

"Not bad. Come look."

By the time Megan arrived, Ryan had given Stella a basic overview of the computer graphics used to construct a game. He didn't know all the sophisticated software necessary to code the action, but he was going to take a class next fall he'd said. Stella shared one of her muffins with him and left him happily ensconced in the window bay drawing characters for his game.

"Okay, give me the dirt," Stella said as she led Megan to the front of the store. "What do you want to say on your signs to screw Deloitte or make yourself a hero?"

"It's not about heroes and villains. It's about issues."

"Except when they lie about you. You gotta fight back."

Megan made a face and sat down in one of Stella's comfy chairs. "I suppose you're right."

"Damn right I am." After last night, she was in the mood for a fight. "Talk to me about this change Deloitte's pushing in the state park, and we'll try to think of some snappy slogans. And thanks for the muffins." Stella held up her latte. "And this—the miracle drug of the gods. My brain is fried."

"What
did
you do last night?"

"Not much. Took it easy." Lies, lies. "Went to bed early." Fact. "What did you do?" Avoid disclosure with a question of your own.