No Bunny But You (Holiday Romance Series) (16 page)

There was the bigger issue, though—what if he
played this thing out and went with her saying that she loved him.
He liked being with her more than any other human on the planet.
She made him hot. She made him laugh at the oddest moments and at
least he wouldn’t have any need to confess his sins about the
blog.

Molly knew everything about him.

But what if he just didn’t end up being
enough for her again? What if he opened himself up and she left
him? He didn’t think he could live through a rejection by Molly.
Not again. Wasn’t the saying that half a loaf was better than no
bread at all?

In their past, the only long-term interaction
had been friendship. When they dated in high school, it had been
his first real relationship. The first time he wanted to be with a
girl that badly.

Frustrated, he pushed the problem aside,
trying to focus on the blank screen. This was what paid the bills.
He might be a fraud, but he had a Visa payment coming due.

* * *

“This is it, my boy!” Mike slapped Drake on
the back.

Seeing him in a tux—in anything more formal
that his usual faded blue jeans—seemed weird.

Drake looked around the darkened ballroom,
filled with tables. The lights from the stage were staggering. He
supposed this Bloggie Award ceremony would be streaming
on-line.

It seemed weird not to have Molly by his
side. When they’d talked last, they agreed to come to this damn
thing together, but he’d gotten a brief text this afternoon, saying
she couldn’t make it after all.

Looking around the room to distract him from
missing Molly, Drake heard the clink of cutlery on china blended
with the chatter of several hundred attendees. The stage being so
lit cast the rest of the room in darkness. At three or four spots,
cameras were set up, their operators all wearing business-like
headsets.

Sitting there between Mike and the head
honcho, Jerome Willstock, from the home improvement network, Drake
felt even more like a fraud. He just wanted to get the evening over
with so he could go home and decide what to do about this situation
with Molly. Sometime in the dark hours last night, he’d come to
terms with the fact that he didn’t know what would happen between
them. That was what kept him locked up over this thing.

“…we will be announcing…”

The award
show started, television reality show star Lily Bradshaw stood at
the podium, all whitened teeth and tight sequin dress.

Dropping his gaze to the wine glass next to
his plate, Drake tried to ignore the pit of his stomach. The blog
he’d written last night—all about replacing washers to fix faucet
drips—had been fairly good, if Mike was any judge. Drake always
picked his own work apart, questioning each word choice and
rethinking his use of various phrases. Being clichéd was a dreaded
thing, but there were only so many ways to say
washer-fix-faucet.

“Your award will be announced about 8:30,”
Mike whispered.

Nodding in response, Drake looked around him
again. Several tables over was a home improvement blogger also up
for the same award tonight. Drake had read his stuff and been
impressed. Strong word choice and simple, understandable
directions. Hell, he’d used the guy’s blog about faucets before
starting on the one in his kitchen.

He was such a fraud. The worst kind, too. He
wasn’t ripping off old ladies and from the first he’d refused to
plagiarize other blogs, but he was a phony in that he knew he
didn’t know this stuff. Molly had been right when she told him he
was a fake. If he hadn’t had her help all these years, he’d have
never made it this far.

Sitting at his table, the food placed before
him by a short Hispanic waiter—who moved swiftly and silently,
supplying plated dinners to Drake’s table and several around
him—Drake didn’t bother trying to eat more than several bites. This
was a nightmare of a different sort.

Next to him, Mike seemed jumpy and also not
interested in his food. Drake wished he could calm his boss’
anxieties, but he knew Mike had very different wishes for the
evening’s outcome than did he. On his other side, the network guy
seemed almost too relaxed by contrast. Like he’d been to a hundred
of these shows and wasn’t impressed or worried.

Drake acknowledged to himself that Jerome
probably had been to a bunch of these dinners—at least as long as
the Bloggies had been in existence. The guy reminded him of the
suits who’d occasionally come into the newsroom at the paper. All
dressed in work wear that cost ten times what the regular guy paid,
they looked both disinterested and highly competent.

He knew they lived or died by the numbers.
They were probably more important than these awards, no matter how
showy they sounded.

“Our next award,” Lily Bradshaw breathed into
the mic, “will be announced by Sam and Sherman of Fix That Man
Room! Their show has run for five seasons!”

She smiled her blinding smile and led the
audience applause, clapping enthusiastically, as if five years was
an incredible amount of time.

Drake supposed it was when home improvement
shows of all varieties came and went with a breakneck speed, as if
the networks were trying to outpace a fickle audience with ADD.

Sam Donnelly and his cousin, the Sherman in
the show’s title, stepped up to the mic, looking surprisingly
comfortable in their tuxes. From what he’d seen, they spent their
on-air time wearing jeans as faded as Mike’s.

“Thanks, folks,” Sam said as the audience
applause died down. “Tonight, we’re here to announce the award for
the Best Home Improvement Blog.”

His smile was nearly as toothy white as Lily
Bradshaw’s and Drake reflected that dentists must love award
shows.

Hearing Sam Donnelly and his cohort reading
off the nominees for the award show, Drake wished Molly could have
been there, just to hear how seriously this was presented. He
suddenly thought that he hated that she’d cancelled on being his
date, rather than go with Mike and Jerome.

Next to him, Mike sat forward, clearly tensed
in his chair. Drake could only be relieved that the evening would
be over soon, at least, his part of it.

“And the Best Home Improvement Bloggie goes
to….Drake Hampton of …”

Feeling himself turn to stone in his chair,
Drake had the weirdest sensation of everything around him seeming
to fade for a moment.

“Get up, boy,” Mike hissed, shaking Drake.
“Go up there and accept your award.”

For a moment, Drake had the image of all the
show business award show he’d watched where winners paused to hug
and kiss those sitting next to him. In his wildest dreams, he
couldn’t imagine hugging and kissing either Mike or Jerome. But he
got to his feet, aware that Mike had grabbed his hand and was
wringing it. Jerome was even smiling, giving him an enthusiastic
pat on the back as he went past.

Making his way between the tables, Drake
wended his way toward the blinding stage. He found the steps and
trotted up them—still with the weird sensation of acting out what
he’d seen on television. Suddenly, he was there next to Sam and
Sherman, a slender wand in front of them, holding a mic. The
hammer-shaped award was pushed into his hands by some girl in an
evening gown and suddenly he stood looking into the darkness that
he knew held his competition and a bunch of other bloggers, much
more deserving of this award than he was.

Standing there, holding the award he knew he
didn’t deserve, Drake cleared his throat and tried to talk into the
mic. “Thank you. Thanks to the Bloggie people and thanks,
especially to Molly.”

He looked into the camera in front of him,
trying to imagine her watching him. “You’ve helped me in more ways
than I can list. Thank you. For everything. Really.”

Urged off the stage, still holding the damn
award, Drake could only hope she knew what was in his heart. He
just wished he knew what to do with it.

* * * * * * * * *

Closing his apartment door behind him later that
evening without turning on the light, Drake dropped his keys into
the bowl by his door, sitting the Bloggie award on a lamp table as
he paused by his couch. With the room still cloaked in darkness, he
shrugged out of the tux jacket and wondered how he’d gotten himself
into this mess.

He’d just needed a job…. That was all.

Going into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator
door to stare inside. The light splashed over him as he suddenly
thought of Molly’s laugh. He’d opened the fridge door to get water
out after they’d made love on his couch that day.

Molly…. Molly naked in his arms, thrusting against
him as they both reached oblivion.

God, he thought, lost in a wash of memories. She’d
touched him all over after she shocked and thrilled him by shoving
her hands down his pants. Damn. He was getting hard just thinking
about it.

Drake slammed the refrigerator door before he left
the kitchen. No doubt about it, he was really messed up. He went
into the living area, dropping onto the couch before he picked up
the remote and clicked on the flatscreen.

An ESPN channel popped on the screen and he stared at
the sportscasters there. This Bloggie award was bogus. He’d stood
on that stage tonight—television cameras pointing at him as
shutters clicked all around—and he’d known it wasn’t right. There
were others in the ballroom who actually deserved that trophy.

For an instant, he thought of calling Molly to talk
this over. He craved that as much as he wanted to make love with
her again. Just to talk to her—normal, about nothing. About all
this.

Dammit, what was he going to do?

With the toe of one shiny black dress shoe, he nudged
the other off, resting his sock-covered feet on the coffee table in
front of him—the one she’d sat on, crying out in ecstasy as he
drove into her. Crap. He needed all new furniture and a new
apartment not filled with memories of Molly….

Or he could just call her. He needed to call her.

This had gone on too long. He should have called her
several days ago…shouldn’t have frozen when she told him she loved
him.

He loved her, too. He’d just been too damned scared
to say anything. Too fearful of the fall if she didn’t keep loving
him.

Just then the doorbell rang…and it pealed again
urgently as he quickly muted the television and went to the
door.

Drake opened the door and there she stood, his porch
light throwing yellow beams on her white blonde hair, her makeup
dark under her eyes as if she’d been crying.

“Molly!” It was as if his fevered imagination—his
longing—had conjured her up.

“You can’t keep it.” She announced without preamble
as she pushed past him into the apartment, turning to face him.

He followed her into the room then, saying heavily,
“What? You saw The Bloggies?”

Standing in his shadowed living room, only the light
cast from the flatscreen television illuminating the space. Molly
nodded, her face somber and smudged with tears. “I never thought
you’d win. I can’t believe you won!”

She seemed more appalled than pleased, he noted. He
felt pretty much the same himself.

“I know.” Drake took several steps toward her,
rubbing the back of his neck. He’d never thought he’d win,
either.

“Listen.” Holding up her hand to stop whatever she
thought he’d been about to say, Molly said in a constricted voice.
“Like I said, I never thought you’d win this thing…and Drake, you
can’t keep it. You have to give it back.”

She snuffled back tears. “You’re too nice a guy to be
a phony and go on being a phony. If you don’t give it back, this
lie will follow you and you’ll have to lie and keep lying. You
shouldn’t have to do that. You have to give it back.”

He’d already come to that conclusion himself,
brooding on it as he drove home.

“It’ll follow me anyway.” Drake said in a level
voice. “If I give it back or keep it, I’ll forever be tied to this
lie.”

“Yes, I know.” She swiped a hand over her cheek. “But
if you give it back—fess up to all this—at least you’ll have done
the right thing. You’ll have to deal with it, but you’ll have come
clean.”

“You know what will happen if I do that?” He asked
the question in the same level voice.

“Yes, you’ll lose your job,” she admitted with tears
now clogging her words.

“And I’ll lose my career as a writer of any sort.” He
could feel the wry twist to his lips. “No news organization wants
to keep a cheat and a liar on staff.”

Brushing at the moisture on her other cheek with the
back of her hand, Molly nodded. “I know. I know and I feel—It’s my
fault. I never should have helped you in this lie.”

“No,” Drake owned flatly. “This was my lie. You may
have helped me with the blog information, but it was my name on
every byline and me standing on that stage tonight accepting what
should have been someone else’s award. This mess wasn’t your
fault.”

Tears started coursing down her cheeks. “Yes, it was.
You never could have done this if I hadn’t been complicit. I even
encouraged you to apply for the spot. You’d applied to so many
places—newspapers and television stations and everywhere. I just
wanted to help.”

She stopped, sniffling back more tears, interrupting
him as he started to speak. “I helped you lie and deceive, but I
can’t let you go on this way. You have to tell your bosses and the
Bloggie people.”

It killed him to watch her so upset. Drake moved
toward her as she wiped at her streaming eyes. “Molly, I wanted
to—“

“No!” She put up a protesting hand to hold him off.
“You have to do this for you. You’re too nice a person to go on
living a lie. No!”

Drake resisted the urge to hold her and wipe away her
tears. “Molly. Listen—“

Brushing at her cheeks, Molly said with more heat.
“No! You deserve better than to go on living this lie.”