Never Have I Ever Page 8

  She lifts her glass and tips back some champagne. “Working out helps when you do that”—she drops her voice to a masculine tone—“I’m gonna smooth my hand over my tie move.” She demonstrates, running a hand over her imaginary neckwear.

  “Ah, like this?” I imitate her, running my hand down the purple silk, slow and seductive and totally over the top.

  She cracks up. I do too. And it feels good. Really fucking good to laugh with a woman. It reminds me of good times. It reminds me that times can be good again.

  I lift a brow. “Did it work?”

  She pouts sexily and fans her face. “Oh, yes. I’m so turned on now.”

  Now that’s an interesting thought. What face does she make when she’s turned on? I probably should sweep that thought under the carpet, along with wondering what Piper is like in bed. Should, but don’t want to. I like it too much.

  I meet her brown-eyed gaze straight on. “Level with me, Piper. You noticed the tie move. Clearly you’ve been checking me out.”

  She nearly chokes on her drink. “Yes. You caught me. I’ve been observing you for the study I’m doing on the mating habits of the cocky male.”

  “Tell me more. I’d like to know about my mating habits.”

  She shoots me a stare. “They’re . . . habitual.”

  I reach for my beer and take a long drink. “I wish.”

  She tilts her head. “Really?” Her voice is stripped free of teasing.

  I decide to cut the bullshit. “Take this for what it is. A number of people have tried to set me up in the last few months, and I’ve said no every time.”

  She screws up the corner of her lips, as if she’s noodling on what I just said. “Makes sense. You’re not ready.”

  I shake my head. I don’t want her to think I’m damaged goods. “It’s not that exactly.”

  “It’s not?”

  “I’ve said no because I haven’t been interested. But my mom and sister kept pushing, and they were pushing tonight, and it got to be too much. I wound up saying something kind of shitty.” I bite off each word, shoving a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself once more. But telling Piper is freeing too. Sharing the fact that I acted like a dick feels weirdly good. I can breathe again, like I’m not coiled tight. “I’m pretty sure they all wanted me gone. That’s why I’m here early. I guess they needed space from me.”

  She smiles sympathetically, running her finger along the bar. “It can’t be easy to keep it together all the time.”

  “Yeah. But I should do better,” I admit, my shoulders relaxing. I don’t even think I was aware that I was tense. But maybe I’m usually on high alert with Piper because of the sharp words we sling at each other. Right now though? We’ve both dialed down the digs a notch or two. And that’s a relief, just to talk.

  “That’s not what I mean.” Her voice is firm. “What I mean is, don’t be that hard on yourself. You’re juggling a lot. Kids, a business, loss.”

  She’s right, but she’s also not right. And I want her to know that. “But at some point, you’re no longer juggling the loss.”

  She arches a brow. “Yeah? You feel like you’re doing okay?”

  I nod, managing a smile. “What else can you do? You move on, you keep going.”

  “That sounds healthy. And I have to imagine at some point, that’s what you want most: to feel normal again.”

  I take a drink. “Exactly. That’s what you aim for. I suppose that’s moving on. Feeling normal rather than numb.”

  “Was that how you felt for a while?”

  I nod, thinking about that first year—the fresh, raw pain, like my insides were being excavated. After that, the cold numbness set in. And somehow, that numbness became the first step in finally coping, and I thawed.

  Now, I’m on the other side. Not the same as before. Never the same. But a new normal.

  “Definitely,” I say. It’s a one-word answer that conveys the whole truth.

  Piper purses her lips, then blurts out, “My father died when I was five. I don’t remember him. I don’t think my mom ever truly moved on.”

  Wow. I didn’t expect Piper to share that. We’ve never really talked like this before, without our armor or our weapons. I’ve laid my guns down tonight, emptied the chambers, and it seems she’s done the same. “Why do you think she hasn’t moved on?”

  “She’s been married six times since then.”

  I scrub a hand over the back of my neck, absorbing this new data. This explains so much about her. Only, I’m not sure now is the time to psychoanalyze her, so I keep my response simple. “Holy half dozen weddings.”

  She laughs, then grabs my arm, squeezing. “If you ever repeat what I just told you, I will deny, deny, deny.”

  I look down at her hand on my forearm. I’m three for three tonight. “Sharing secrets? Are you trusting me now? That would be scandalous.”

  “Never. Please. You and me, we’re mortal enemies. Lex Luthor and Superman.”

  “I wonder which one I am.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “Maybe we take turns.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” I raise my beer and take another drink while she finishes her champagne.

  She sets down her glass and sighs. “By the way, that sucks that everyone is pushing you to date again. Only do it when you’re ready.”

  “Hey. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

  “Did I say I felt sorry for you? Never.”

  I flash her a grin. “That’s the Piper I know.”

  “You’ll get no sympathy from me.” Ah, now we’re back on familiar ground, and I don’t mind this territory either. I know the terrain, can navigate it without a map.

  “Good. And don’t you play the Pity the Widower game.”

  “As if I’d ever do that.”

  “You better not. I want full license to be the asshole you think I am. No pity. Never.”

  “You get zero from me. I assure you.”

  “Excellent.” I take a beat then lift an eyebrow. “By the way, how long have you had it bad for me?”

  An eye roll is her response. “By the way, how long has it been since you lost your mind?”

  “You have a huge, insane crush on me. Just admit it.”

  She shoots me a concerned look. “Was it rough? When you hit your head earlier today? Clearly you’re a little disoriented.”

  “Absolutely. It was like my world was knocked sideways.” I circle my hand around her arm, taking my shot in the handsy game. “Because that’s the only reason I’d say this.” I look her up and down, my eyes lingering on her short leather skirt. “You wear leather ridiculously well.”

  Her brown eyes widen in surprise. I’m a little surprised I said it too, but evidently leather on her body makes me quite bold.

  “I do?” Her voice is feathery.

  I take my time before answering, enjoying the way she parts her lips and seems to be poised on the edge of this moment, of my words.

  “You absolutely do. It suits you.”

  She breathes out a quiet “Thank you.”

  And she knows. Knows that I meant that last bit. That it’s real.

  Which makes absolutely no sense to me since I can’t stand her.

  At least, that’s how it’s been. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

  I shouldn’t be able to tolerate this much time with her at all.

  But evidently I can.

  9

  Piper

  I try.

  But it’s hard.

  Still, I’ve done hard stuff before—I climbed the Empire State Building in the annual race up its steps. I took a graduate seminar in English while only a junior in college and nailed it, and oh yeah, I built a kick-ass business in Manhattan, supporting myself and helping my sister finance an adoption, all while moving on from the heartbreak of my twenties, and the string of failed relationships left in its wake.

  Yup. My past is littered with the shards of my own broken heart.

  But those accomplishments p
ale in comparison to tonight’s feat of strength.

  This evening, I’m Hercules. No, make that Athena, because I’m channeling all that badass lady-goddess’s strength as I do my damnedest not to look at Zach during dinner.

  This should not be difficult.

  This ought to be a tra-la-la-skip-through-the-spring-woods kind of thing. Hell, I’ve been navigating my way through those woods for years, even in the dark, blindfolded, hopping on one freaking high-heeled foot.

  But tonight, I can’t find my way on the path.

  When did the Zach-shaped roots spring from the forest floor to trip me up?

  Is it the wine? I lift my glass. It’s only my second drink, and I’m less than halfway through it, so I can’t blame the vino for this war between my brain and my body.

  As I chat with the always peppy Dina Hopkins, I’m fighting—dare I say, grappling and wrestling with myself—not to look at Zach at the other end of the table.

  What would I see anyway? Just a man in a crisp button-down that hugs his frame, with sandpaper five-o’clock-shadow stubble, and dark, lush hair that swoops over his forehead.

  Grrr.

  This is the problem.

  He’s too handsome.

  Clearly his looks are like those weather vortexes you hear about. He’s that location on the map where low pressure collides with hot air, and women experience an atypical rise in temperature when they’re near him.

  It’s a secret weapon. His looks are a stealth bomber. A fancy spy gadget.

  Like the kind a movie villain would possess.

  How does opposing counsel—man or woman—manage with him across the table? That must be how he’s so successful. His looks disarm any opponent. Because no one can be that good-looking, so you spend the whole time wondering how it’s possible.

  “And that’s when he said, ‘Mommy, you’re my favorite.’”

  Dina.

  Right.

  Dina is speaking.

  I paste on a huge smile that says, oh sure, I’ve absolutely been paying attention the entire time.

  I clasp my hands to my chest. “So sweet.”

  “What about you?” Dina asks.

  Uh oh.

  I’ve been working so damn hard not to check out Zach that my brain cramped. I have no idea what Dina and I were discussing.

  Or really, what Dina was discussing.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you want to have kids?”

  Oh. That question. That million-dollar question. For someone who has kids—like Dina—there is only one acceptable answer, and that’s of course, oh my God, please tell me what parenting secrets you’ve gleaned, since you’re obviously amazing at it.

  But my answer? It’s a little more muddled.

  I like kids, but I don’t know if I want to have them.

  Maybe because of how I was raised. My mother molded me into her personal flower girl, her most dependable maid of honor and her closest friend.

  She treated me like her bestie and her accessory all rolled into one bridesmaid-dress-wearing doll—pink at age five, lavender at eight, pale yellow at ten, periwinkle at thirteen, black at seventeen, and aqua at nineteen.

  She came to me when her heart was broken, she cried on my shoulder, and she even offered me a second spoon and asked if I wanted to join her in drowning her man sorrows in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s when I was only a sophomore and hadn’t had the chance to get jaded on love in my own time.

  She meant well, I suppose.

  She’s a hopeless romantic, always searching for the love she’d had with my father again.

  But even though I understand her choices, that doesn't mean I want to make them.

  What if I have kids and learn I’m lacking the skills? What if I bring a child into the world, and it turns out—oops—I’m just like my clingy, have-some-Cherry-Garcia-with-me-since-Rafe-didn’t-turn-out-to-be-the-one mom?

  The fear is real because I’m already like her in some ways. She’s a social butterfly and counts a big group of friends in her circle. She loves pretty things, the smell of old books, the scent of lilacs, and the lure of Europe, even though, like me, she’s never been.

  I’m the same in bigger ways too. We’ve both been involved in countless weddings. Fine, she was usually the bride, I was usually behind the scenes. But still, I’ve been drawn to marriage ceremonies since Mom, Paige, and I watched Princess Diana’s wedding in reruns after her tragic death. We have this bond, and it’s an odd one—one I don’t care to psychoanalyze.

  What if I’m the same as my mother in other ways?

  The prospect terrifies me.

  But there are other reasons that parenting scares me too. I’ve made my own mistakes, and I’ve made choices that, in retrospect, were the wrong ones at the wrong time for the wrong reason. Am I better off alone?

  It’s possible.

  I simply don’t know, so here I am, marinating on Dina’s question: do I want to have kids? Dina, who knew when she was a sophomore in college she wanted to balance a corporate job in project management and be a mom. Dina, who seems to have succeeded.

  “Someday,” I tell her, and it feels like a half-truth, half cover-up.

  We make small talk about work, and as we do, I’m remembering Jensen, the man I was madly in love with in my twenties, the man I thought I’d be with forever and ever.

  I was stupid.

  I was foolish.

  I was in love.

  Surely Zach would have predicted the failure rate of that relationship at 100 percent.

  He’d have been right. Jensen and I never stood a chance.

  “What do you think Charlie’s news is?” Dina whispers as the waiter brings another round of small plates. Charlie’s holding court at the head of the table, but he’s yet to reveal his big news. Maybe he cashed out of yet another venture. The man sold his last company for a mint. He’s been living the good life since then, traveling to Europe often, surfing in Costa Rica, and enjoying the best of Manhattan as he searches for the next company he wants to start.

  “Something good, that’s for sure,” I say.

  Dina bats her blue eyes. “You must have an idea.”

  I have several, but I don’t want to jinx the ones I’m hoping for, so I toss out the most obvious possibility for the Midas man.

  “I bet he started a new business.”

  “Maybe he’s becoming a monk.”

  And here is Zach with his opinions.

  My natural instinct is to roll my eyes when I hear him. But my body doesn’t listen. It has instincts of its own. A shiver has the audacity to roll down my spine.

  God help me.

  This is unfair. It is cruel and unusual punishment to make me suddenly responsive to this man.

  I turn my head. He’s standing next to me. Leaning near me. I catch a faint hint of his scent, and it’s not cologne. It’s aftershave, I think. Something woodsy and clean that reminds me of snow and cedar.

  The smell is intoxicating.

  Great. I’ll never be able to go for a walk in the woods again.

  I gird myself, arming myself with a comeback. Barbs—that’s what we do. “Charlie is more likely to give up all his creature comforts and move to Ecuador to build homes for the poor than to become a monk.”

  “True. He does love the ladies more than his material goods. Does that make him an immaterial guy?” he asks, riffing on the Madonna tune.

  I chuckle, despite my best intentions to remain unamused by Zach. “He’s a material guy. But he’s a good guy.”

  Zach nods. “True that. Still, I say he’s either going full monk, becoming an ultra-marathoner, moving to the South Pole to research the effects of global warming—also, how the hell do you not fall off Earth when you’re on the South Pole?—starting a new venture he wants us to crowdfund, or . . .” His eyes darken, and he trails off.

  “Or what?”

  Zach drags a hand through his hair. “It better not be cancer. He fucking better not be announcing it to all
of us tonight, telling us he’s dying but embracing it, so he’s celebrating.”

  My heart lurches toward him. I reach for his arm, gripping him tightly, like I can send my certainty into him. “That’s not it. There’s no way. He’s not doing that. Tonight is for good news.”

  He bends lower, so we’re at eye level. “Better be,” he mutters.

  I squeeze again. “He would never do that—gather us all to tell us that. He wouldn’t set us up to think everything was fine.”

  Dina chimes in, her voice soft. “It’s going to be okay, Zach. It’s going to be fantastic news. I bet he started a charity or something. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Yeah, it would.” He heaves a sigh, then shakes his head like a dog. “I’m good. It’s all good.” He flashes a grin, and it feels forced. “I’m voting for monk though. That’s my prediction, and I’m sticking to it.”

  I laugh because it’s necessary. “I’m casting mine for Ecuador.”

  He extends his hand. “Bet on it.”

  I shake. “A gentlewoman’s bet.”

  “Yoo-hoo! I want in on it,” Dina says, lifting her chin. “I vote for he just bought this restaurant and we can eat here for free anytime.”

  Dina and Zach shake on it. “I’m all for that. Free food rules,” Zach says.

  “I want to bet on Dina’s idea. Please, please, please let it be free food for all of us. Also, gravity is why you don’t fall off the South Pole.”

  Zach snaps his finger. “Gravity. I knew it had to be something.”

  The three of us smile, and this time when I scan Zach’s face, his grin feels real. And I’m glad.

  When Dina lets go of his hand, she hums. “Hey, you know, seeing you reminds me of something.”

  “Yeah?” His tone is noncommittal.

  Dina taps his hand with hers. “Are you on the dating circuit again?”

  I glance at him. He smiles at me with his eyes, lifting a brow as if to say, See what I mean?

  He meets Dina’s gaze. His answer brooks no argument. “No.”

  His gaze swings back to mine. His blue eyes twinkle, and my stomach flips.

  Okay, that’s it. I’m arresting myself for mutiny. I’ve had enough of my traitorous body for one evening. This kind of treachery is unacceptable. I believe my brain gave my libido the memo not to lust after Zach.