Just Physical (20 page)

Jill's anger deflated like a pierced balloon. She stepped up to Grace and touched her arm. “No. I appreciate it. If circumstances were different…” She trailed off. It was better not to let herself think about it. “I'm not in a position where I can look for happiness in a relationship, so please cut out the matchmaking.”

“Why not?” Grace asked with a hint of defiance.

“You know why. Don't make me say it.” A headache formed behind her temples, so she reached up to massage them.

“You really want to stay alone for the rest of your life, just because you have MS?”

Jill's anger sparked alive again. “Just?” she echoed. “I'd think that's reason enough!”

“That's not what I meant. I just…I really think you should reconsider and give yourself a chance to see where this is going.”

“I already know where this is going! Haven't you seen what MS can do to people?”

Grace regarded her with a serious expression. “Do you honestly think Crash would lose interest in you if you had a relapse? Like you said, I don't really know her, but I didn't get the impression that she's so fickle.”

“It has nothing to do with being fickle,” Jill said, instantly feeling the need to defend Crash. “It's only human. How desirable do you think she would still find me if she had to change the sheets because I had an accident during sex?”

“Maybe you should ask her that, not me,” Grace said quietly.

Jill shook her head. “I don't need to have that discussion with her. I've already made my decision. Look at her.” She gestured toward the sliding door.

On the other side of the glass, Crash was throwing a tennis ball for Tramp. The muscles of her arm rippled beneath her short-sleeved blouse, and the breeze outside tousled her short hair.

As if sensing her attention, Crash looked over, and their gazes met.

Jill turned away. “Do you really think a woman like her should have to live with MS? What if it were you? Would you want Lauren to live like that?”

Grace stared at the tiled floor of the kitchenette. “No,” she whispered. “I wouldn't want that for her. But—”

Jill cut her off with a wave of her hand. “No buts. Crash and I agreed that it would be just a one-night stand. We're both not interested in more. Please respect my wishes and just leave it at that.”

A sigh ruffled the golden-blonde strand of hair that had fallen onto Grace's forehead. “All right. If that's what you want…”

“That's what I want.” Jill squared her shoulders and forced a slight smile onto her face. “Well, that and a beer, but since you don't keep alcohol in the house and I couldn't have one anyway, I'll settle for you skipping the matchmaking.”

“Well, actually…” Grace opened the refrigerator and took out several bottles of beer. She pressed one into Jill's hands. “Here. It's nonalcoholic. The woman who's not interested in you brought it—and I don't think it's because she knows I don't drink.”

“Grace,” Jill said in a warning tone.

“Okay, okay. I'm shutting up now.”

Jill pressed the cool bottle to her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment before following her back to the patio. “Thanks.”

“Oh, God, no.” Jill quickly pulled her plate away when Grace wanted to put another piece of cheesecake on it. “I'm about to explode as it is.”

She leaned back in her chair, sipped her second nonalcoholic beer, and watched the sun set over the canyon. Grace's hideaway up in the mountains was almost ridiculously romantic, and Crash's closeness didn't help.

With all of them squeezed around the small patio table, Crash's leg brushed hers whenever one of them moved. Every time it happened, the tingle shooting through her entire body became harder to ignore—and so did the fact of how well Crash fit in with her friends.

“How about you, Crash?” Grace slid the leftover piece of cheesecake toward Crash. “You do stunts for a living. That must burn calories like crazy. You can take a second piece of cake.”

“No, thanks.” Crash covered her plate with her hands so Grace couldn't deposit the piece of cheesecake on it. “If I want to get into Jill's drawers and dresses on Monday, I really shouldn't.”

Lauren burst out laughing.

Jill nearly spat a mouthful of beer across the table. Heat crept up her neck. She threw a crumpled-up napkin at Lauren. “Jeez, Lauren. She didn't mean it like that. All she meant is that she needs to be able to wear the same costumes that I do.”

Crash shook her head at Lauren. A faint hint of red suffused her cheeks too. “What is it with you writers and your dirty minds?”

“Me?” Lauren touched her own chest.

“Yeah, you,” Crash and Jill said in unison.

Grace deposited the last piece of cheesecake on Lauren's plate. “Here, eat. You're the only one who works behind the camera, so you can afford the extra calories.”

One of Lauren's eyebrows arched up over the rim of her glasses. “Are you saying it doesn't matter how I look?”

“Oh, it matters,” Grace said, her voice gone husky.

“They're still in that can't-keep-their-hands-off-each-other phase,” Jill stage-whispered to Crash. She was glad for her friends, really, but at the same time, she couldn't help envying them for what they had.

Lauren threw the crumpled-up napkin back at Jill before digging into the piece of cheesecake.

“I know how they feel,” Crash whispered, her voice pitched so low that only Jill could hear.

The heat in her gaze made Jill's cheeks flame, and Crash's breath bathing her ear caused a full-body tingle, but she ignored that, too, and sent Crash a warning gaze. They had agreed to go back to being just friends, and there was no renegotiating on that.

“So,” Grace said, “how did things go in San Francisco? You've been back for a week already, but neither of you told me much so far.”

In an attempt not to peek in Crash's direction, Jill looked down and pretended to check if Tramp was still sleeping beneath the table. She realized the dog had moved a little so that his head now rested on Crash's shoe.
Figures. Not even my dog can resist her.

“Not much to tell,” Jill said as matter-of-factly as she could. “Just business as usual.” It was a message to Crash, but she didn't turn her head to look at her and see if it had been understood.

“Oh, yeah,” Crash said. “We had to make the most of our time there, so we were shooting from sunup to sundown.”

Make the most of our time there…
Was it just her imagination, or was there a seductive timbre in Crash's voice? She shivered as she remembered how they'd made the most of their time in her hotel room. In the past, she had always enjoyed a healthy sex life, but then the MS had messed with her self-esteem and her libido. She'd assumed that part of her life was over for good, but with Crash, a lack of libido had definitely not been a problem. She mentally shook her head at herself.
Just because you could keep up with her for a few hours doesn't mean you could always make her happy in and out of bed.

Lauren looked up from her cake and glanced over at Crash. “I heard you had to repeat that crowd shot down at the ferry building five times.”

“Six, actually.” Crash groaned. “That's the thing when you work with extras. They're not trained actors or stunt people, so one of them kept messing up. I was soaking wet for most of the day.”

God!
Jill white-knuckled her fork.
Stop with the double entendres already!

“Wardrobe ended up having to dry-blow my costume because they ran out of dry ones,” Crash added.

“Oh, yeah, extras… Tell me about it. I think some directors would rather work with trained chimpanzees than with extras.” Grace gestured over at Jill. “Remember when we were shooting
Ava's Heart
and the prop department kept having to replace things?”

Jill needed a moment to get her mind out of the gutter and back to the topic at hand. “It turned out that one of the extras was stealing our props to take home as souvenirs,” she explained and allowed herself to look over at Crash, who was listening with rapt attention, her intense gaze resting on Jill. “We only caught him when he tried to steal the scarecrow.”

“What?” Laughing, Crash shook her head. “Who would steal a scarecrow?”

“Extras,” they all said at the same time and shared a laugh.

Jill couldn't look away from Crash. She liked the way she laughed—and the way she looked while the sunset dipped her strong features in bronze.
Oh, cut out the romantic bullshit!

She was dangerously emotional tonight, so it was better to leave before she did something stupid. She gestured at the horizon, where only a glowing band of orange remained. The canyon below was already dipped in shadows and growing darker by the minute so that she couldn't make out the stands of chaparral and sage anymore. “I think I'd better head out now, guys. I don't want to drive down the dirt path in the dark.”

Lauren swallowed the last bite of cheesecake and traded long glances with Grace. “Um, would you mind driving Crash home, Jill? That would save me the trip to the city and back.”

“You'll stay the night?” Grace beamed at her. “I thought you wanted to head back to your apartment to get some writing done tomorrow morning?”

Lauren grinned. “I changed my mind. If that's okay with you.”

“Okay? That would be great!” Grace sent Jill a pleading gaze. “Do you mind? It would be wonderful to have a little extra time with Lauren.”

Now they both looked at Jill expectantly.

Oh, very subtle, guys.
But there was no way out. Even if Crash could get a cabbie to get her up here, Grace wouldn't want a stranger coming to the cottage. She unclenched her teeth and said, “I don't mind. Come on, Crash.”

They got up and went inside, followed by Grace and Lauren. Tramp woke and bustled after them, excited at the sound of Jill's jingling car keys, because he knew that meant they were about to go for a ride.

Jill hugged first Lauren, then Grace. “You're putting me in an impossible situation,” she whispered into Grace's ear. “If you keep this up, I'll call your mother and tell her what you had for dinner.”

“Hey, I had nothing to do with this,” Grace whispered back. “It was Lauren's idea.”

“I didn't see you objecting.”

“Of course not. With one or both of us shooting on location half of the time, we don't get to spend enough time with each other.”

Jill sighed. At least one of them wouldn't have to spend the night alone.

Crash slid into the passenger seat of the Beetle, while Jill got Tramp secured in the backseat with some kind of dog harness and then climbed behind the wheel.

When she turned the key in the ignition, an upbeat pop song blasted through the car's speakers. “Sorry,” Jill said and turned down the volume.

Crash could imagine her singing along to the songs on the radio on the drive up, the top of the convertible down and the wind in her hair. The mental image made her smile.

“What?” Jill asked.

Still smiling, Crash said, “Nothing.”

“Do you want the top up or down?” Jill asked.

Temperatures had dropped after sunset, but with that earlier image of Jill driving carefree, Crash just couldn't resist. “Down, if you don't mind.”

Jill pressed a button, which made the Beetle's soft-top fold back into the rear of the car. Then she guided the car down the narrow dirt path.

Crash watched the confident way Jill gripped the steering wheel. She remembered how those hands had mapped her body with the same confidence. “Nice.”

“Thanks. Having a convertible is the one Hollywood-style luxury I allow myself, even if it's not exactly a sports car.”

“I wasn't talking about the car. I meant your driving.”

“Oh. Thanks. Well, I spend a lot of time at the cottage, so I know every bend and every stone in the dirt path.”