Screwdrivered (Cocktail #3) (18 page)

“Did I date in college?”

“Mm-hmm,” I responded, curling my legs underneath me. I chewed on my thumbnail while I waited for his response.

“Some.”

“And after college?”

“Some.”

“And after after college?”

“
After
after college?”

“Yeah, you know. Recent. Current. Whatever,” I asked, chewing harder on my nail. He let loose one of those low chuckles. I bit the nail clean off. Without thinking, I spat it out.

“Did you just spit something?” he asked, sounding curious and amused.

Mortified, burying my face in the pillow, I answered a muffled yes.

“Never would have pegged you as a spitter, Vivian.”

Eyes suddenly wide, I sat straight up, almost levitating from the bed, then rallied. “Only when it’s something not worth swallowing.”

Hello line, I believe I just crossed over you. I distinctly heard Clark choke on a sip of what I assumed was his Scotch.

I looked at the clock and saw how late it was. “I better go; I have to get up very early. See you tomorrow?”

“That’s a promise, Vivian,” he said, that deep, warm-honey voice running all over me. “And for the record? I’m not spoken for.”

I let out a shuddery sigh. We said our good-nights, I hung up the phone, and tried to go to sleep.

The next morning I kissed my parents good-bye and boarded a plane to California, with no idea of which Clark might be waiting for me when I got home.

It wasn’t until somewhere over Utah that I realized I hadn’t thought about the cowboy once the entire time I was gone. Huh.

chapter twelve

Thankful for the large SUV, as I had more luggage than a few weeks ago, I drove from San Francisco to Mendocino on pins and needles. Last time my excitement came from nervous anticipation, because I had no idea what I was walking into. This time I knew what I was coming home to. The question was, what was the most exciting part? My new life? The house itself? The libr—

Whoa. I can’t even think it.

As I navigated up Highway 1, taking the longer route for the more scenic view, I felt my skin begin to sink back into the deep blues and vibrant greens of the coast, the craggy cliffs and rich brown earth. Wild and rough, this part of the country was certainly among the most beautiful in the world.

Making that last turn and seeing Mendocino on the horizon made my heart beat a little bit faster. The quaintness overwhelmed me once more, the cottages flush with shrub roses and hollyhocks, trellises covered with flowering vines and saturated with fat bumblebees zinging this way and that. It was warm today, the chill of early autumn chased away by a sultry inland breeze and the enormous sun. I smiled to see the drugstore, the grocery store, John’s restaurant, and Cliffside Coffee, bustling with locals and tourists. Was I a local yet? I wondered how long that might take . . .

As I turned down Maple, Whispering Canyon came into view. Turrets, wide but dangerous porch, bright clean windows, and . . . oh, snap. There she is!

Parked in the driveway was the Blue Bomber. Two point motherfucking 0. “Yes!” I yelled out, almost forgetting to put my rental car into park. I slid out from behind the seat belt and danced to the Bel Air, which looked like it was ready to fly. Top down, chrome sparkling, it was a killer car. And dangling from the rearview mirror? Fuzzy dice. Yes!

I ran my hands down the smooth lines and the gleaming paint. It was decently waxed and buffed to a picture-perfect shine, and I bent down to admire the fat, puffy whitewall tires.

“Fucking awesome,” I breathed, then heard the crunch of footsteps behind me.

I peered around, not yet straightening, to see brown loafers. Brown chinos. Blue-and-green plaid shirt, green knit tie. Tweed jacket. Hands in pockets. Straight, even teeth behind a smile. Dusty eyeglasses, one fingertip pushing them up a perfectly healed nose. Warm brown eyes. Neatly parted wavy brown hair.

“Hiya, Clark,” I said, slowly straightening and turning to lean against my car. I smiled as I saw his gaze drop down to my legs, as it often did, and slowly rise up my body. I don’t know if all librarians ogled the way this one did, but he had it down to an art form. He took his time, leaving no curve unseen. Did I arch my back when his gaze finally made it to my chest? Of course I did. And was rewarded with a nostril flare, the equivalent of a facial boner.

When his eyes finally made it to mine? His grin deepened. “Vivian,” he breathed, in that warm-honey way. But then his grin faltered with shyness. “I trust you had a good flight?”

It was okay; I wasn’t really ready to be face-to-face with Nighttime Clark. Daytime Clark was a piece of work in his own right.

“Seriously? You want to talk about my flight right now?” I asked, pushing my shoulders back more, internally giggling when he immediately pushed his eyeglasses up his nose again.

“Um, well, what did you want to talk about?” He gulped, and I decided to take it easy on him.

I grinned and patted the car. “Let’s take this baby out for a spin.”

His face flashed something close to gratitude, which was quickly masked. “I trust you have insurance for this car?”

I laughed out loud, which earned me an “impossible woman,” but said with a touch more fondness than usual.

I slid in behind the wheel, he took shotgun, and we drove that beauty straight up the coast.

W
e drove for an hour, passing Fort Bragg and beyond. The coastline was even more wild and curvy up here, just dangerous enough to add an extra thrill to the day. The ribbon of blacktop cut a winding trail along the cliffs, the Pacific crashing on our left, the mountains soaring majestically on our right.

And between me and the mountains? Clark, who regaled me with stories of the pioneers who first settled this coast, the gold miners who brought their families out seeking riches, the towns that rose around a lucky vein and then expired just as quickly when the gold ran out. The pirates that navigated these waters, pillaging and plundering. Oh yes, the plundering.

And in between the stories, we tuned in the local oldies station and gave the Bel Air what it deserved: doo-wop. Rama lama. Shoop shoops. And a few dingdongs for good measure.

It was good, it was easy, it was fun. The car was slick, speedy when the road was straight, and a smooth, easy boat on the curves. A total bubble of awesome. And we rode around in that bubble all afternoon, me and my Bel Air, my librarian, and my shoop shoop.

The
librarian.

Yes, that’s what I said.
The
librarian.

We headed toward home as the sun began to sink over the ocean, painting the blue with strands of gold.

When we reached town, Clark directed me to turn left into a driveway.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked, pulling up next to a perfect saltbox Cape Cod.

“I need to pick something up,” he answered, jumping from the car and hurrying around to my side. He held the door open and closed it behind me.

“This is your house?” I asked, looking all around.

“Yes. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“This isn’t surprise, this is excitement. I’m dying to see where you live,” I announced, running up the front walk. I peered in through the windows on either side of the door and saw books everywhere, stacked neatly on bookcases and on tabletops. An easy chair. The perfect shade of green on the walls, soft and comforting. A fireplace with a stacked stone hearth.

“I have a key, you know,” he said, right behind me. I could feel his breath on the top of my head, he was so much taller than I was. “You don’t have to look through the windows.”

I laughed. “Only if you want to show me.”

“Of course I want to show you. But don’t you want to see the Legless Knight? He’s waiting for you in the garage.”

Looking back at the windows, I asked, “Rain check on the house?”

He nodded. “Rain check.” Then he led me around the house. In the tidy backyard I saw a fire pit, gas grill, and Adirondack chairs arranged on the patio into conversation circles. He paused next to the garage.

“So the knight’s standing guard over the Taurus, is he?” I joked.

“The Taurus is one of the most stolen cars in America, Vivian. Statistically speaking, if you were going to have your own personal knight in shining armor, wouldn’t you want him guarding something you knew was likely to be stolen?” He smiled down at me.

“I suppose. Think that’s why he was in Aunt Maude’s bedroom? Maybe she was afraid someone was going to steal her fourteenth stack of tube socks.”

“Maybe she just got lonely. It happens.” He unlocked the door, but still we stood.

“It happens to everyone at some point,” I said, aware once more of how much taller he was than me. I was staring at his Windsor knot, loosened as it often was by the end of the day. I could see the tiniest smidge of skin peeking through. It was a tan smidge, and I remembered how sun kissed his chest was that day on the trail.

As my nose caught the scent of warm Irish Spring, I looked up to see his face. He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite identify.

“Agreed,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“I agree with you. Everyone gets lonely sometimes.”

“Not if they have a knight in shining armor, though,” I said, and felt a blush creep into my cheeks. Before he could answer and plunge us deeper into the Land of Trite, I saved us both. “Let’s get him and bring him back home, okay?”

“Good idea.”

Soon we were driving through Mendocino with the knight in the backseat, his legs sticking straight up into the air next to his top.

I caught Jessica’s face full of curious as we cruised down the main drag, me, Clark, and a suit of armor in a powder-blue fifties’ convertible, blaring doo-wop like it was going out of style. The good news about doo-wop is it never goes out of style.

S
till laughing as we pulled into the driveway and around the back of my house, I started when I saw Hank’s truck. With one glance, my heart began to pound. I couldn’t help it. I could see him in the barn, his naked, sweat-slicked torso instantly arousing my female parts. It wasn’t something I could control; it was just hardwired into me when it came to this guy.

I sat in the driver’s seat, drumming my thumbs on the wheel. I didn’t even notice Clark getting out of the car until he was standing next to me, thumping on the door. I dragged my eyes away from the barnyard porn to see Clark’s head down, his eyes averted. I looked back toward the barn and saw Hank taking notice. And now walking toward us. I quickly climbed out of the car, Clark closing the door with a soft thwack.

“Vivian, if I could just—”

“Viv,” Hank called out.

Hank in motion is something I can’t accurately describe, except to say that the pecs, the abs, the slick, the meat, the blond, the casual, the intent, the command of everything in his reach is utterly, literally, awesome. After two weeks of no Hank, I was now in the full flush of a direct dose, and it was too much for my system. What was it about this guy that turned me to mush like nobody’s business?

The truth is, I’d always had a weakness for a bad boy, the hard-to-get boy. On the page, the heroine was always attracted to the pirate, the rogue prince, the dark rider. And while a prince charming occasionally turned my head, the dirty-talking prince from the enemy camp stole my heart without fail. And my petticoat. The conscious, smart part of me knew this man was no good for me. But the unconscious part of me hijacked my hormones whenever he was within orbit. The primitive need to be invaded by the strongest member of the pack sent me tits up and out, ready to be mounted.

Luckily, the conscious Viv won out today. So when Hank finally made it across the yard, I was breathing steadily.

Someone next to me was not.

“Back from Pittsburgh already, huh?” Hank asked, coming to a stop in front of me, an inch or two closer than societal standards. And deliberately so. He looked me up and down, and my stupid breath wanted to come faster.

“She’s from Philadelphia. Not Pittsburgh.”

Clark was closer than he’d been a moment ago; I could feel his tension through his jacket and into my arm. His Irish Spring was especially sharp and spicy.

“Oh hey, Clark, I didn’t even see you there. What’s going on, you two out for a joyride?” Hank deliberately stepped between us to have a look at the car.

Clark, ever the gentleman, allowed it, but I could see that his lips had disappeared. Which for Clark, I had a feeling, meant he was just below furious.

“You guys been at the junkyard? What the hell is that?” Hank laughed, pointing at the knight in the backseat.

“Hey, don’t go poking fun at Legless. He’s the best,” I said, patting the knight on the shoulder.

“Legless—wasn’t that the blond guy with the arrows in that movie?
Ring Lords
or something?”

Clark closed his eyes. His lips reappeared and were now counting to ten.

“
Legolas
is in the movie.
Legless
is coming back inside—right, Clark?” I asked, reaching out to rub his arm.

Hank’s eyes followed it like a hawk. He looked at the two of us, then grinned like he knew a secret. And it wasn’t a grin I liked very much; it changed his face from a thing of beauty into something different.

A face I had a gut feeling Clark had seen before. I had a very sudden and clear picture of what high school must have been like for Hank. And it was a somewhat different picture from how Clark experienced it.

“Well, hey, looks like he might be a bit heavy. Need some help lifting him out of the car?” Hank asked, moving further in between us to grab hold of the knight’s shoulders. “Wow, he’s pretty heavy. How ’bout I help you out here, eh, Clark?”

I answered first. “Thanks, Hank, that’s sweet of you but—”

“I got this,” Clark said, grabbing for the shoulders as well, their hands now on the knight.

Me? In between. “Hey guys, how about we just—”

“Oh man, look at your face! It’s getting really red! Come on, Clark, let
me
help Viv with this—it weighs a ton,” Hank needled, tugging at the knight. Clark tugged back just as hard, the movement jostling his glasses crooked on his face.

Me? Still in the middle. “Seriously guys, this is silly. How about we—”

“I. Got. This.” Clark grabbed once more for the knight and just like that, Hank let go. Tumbling Clark into the backseat.

Tumbling me into Hank. Who caught me tight around the waist. After weeks and weeks, I was finally, blessedly, pressed up against his naked chest.

Hank laughed, clutching me even tighter.

“I got this, Clark,” he said, his hands now splayed across my lower back.

We were all frozen in a sick, twisted tableau. Except for Hank’s hands, which continued to rove.

I pulled away, something I never thought I’d do in a million years. But he was being a total jerk.

Oh, Christ. Clark.

White-faced, he scrambled up and out of the car, grabbed the other half of the knight, and disappeared into the house without a word.

Hank looked at the other half in the backseat, then at me. “You want some help with that?” he said, his face already losing the intensity that had been on display a moment before.

“No. I’m going to wait for Clark.”

He nodded, and was in his truck before I even had a chance to wonder what the hell had just happened.

I heard the porch door bang open and looked up to see Clark barreling down the steps. Still not meeting my eyes, he grabbed the other half and started to head back in. “Hey, wait, let me get the door for you,” I said, trying to get there before he did.

But that’s not how Clark rolled. Holding the bottom half under his left arm, he held the door open for me. Still looking at the ground,
but holding the door open.
For me.