Tamed (20 page)

He huffs. But heads over to the bar anyway.

Then, sounding as livid as Drew looks, Kate says, “Drew, I just remembered I have some documents to give you about the Genesis account. They’re in my office. Let’s go.”

“It’s a party, Kate,” John states jovially. “You should save the work for Monday.”

“It’ll just take a minute,” she tells him with a smile. Then her smile drops as she grabs Drew’s arm and drags him away.

While John chats with an associate next to him, Dee leans in and tells me quietly, “I don’t like how your friend was running his mouth at my cousin—and Kate.”

I put my arm around her. “He’s just competitive. It’s business—a dog-eat-dog kind of thing.”

And I have no doubt Drew would give up his right ball for the chance to eat Kate Brooks.

Dee’s not pacified. “If he comes back and decides to be a dick again, I’m going to tell him he’s risking getting his cut off.”

In the weeks since meeting her, I’ve seen many sides to Delores—carefree, seductive, tender, silly. But this is the first time I’ve witnessed her protective side. I’ve got a lot of respect for loyalty. The fact that Dee is so violent about expressing hers is goddamn adorable.

I press my lips to the top of her head. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

When Kate and Drew didn’t return to the conference room within a couple of minutes, I’m guessing Billy went searching for
them. Because ten minutes later, Billy and Kate appear at Dee’s side—both looking uncomfortable. Tense. Definitely not happy campers.

Drew doesn’t come back to the party at all.

When Jack takes his leave a half hour later, I assume he and Drew made plans to start bar-hopping early. Given her recent threats against Drew, it’s probably not the best night to bring Dee out with the guys after all. So when the office party winds down, Kate, Billy, Dee, and I hit the city together. We walk a few blocks and grab a table at a just-starting-to-get-crowded tavern that’s hosting an open mic night on its small stage.

Delores and Kate harass Billy to sign up to perform. Billy nudges Kate with an elbow. “Sing with me. Like old times.”

Kate shakes her head. “No way. My singing days are over. I’ve hung up the microphone for good.”

Although her tone is joking, Warren looks . . . disappointed. Maybe even a little wounded.

After downing our first round of drinks, his name comes up and he takes the stage—borrowing one of the tavern’s guitars. He sings a cover of “Here’s to Us.” I don’t remember the name of the original band, but I know their sound leans toward heavy metal and their lead singer is a smoking hot redhead with killer pipes.

And I have to say—I’m pretty frigging impressed with Billy Warren. His guitar playing is really good and his voice is awesome—smooth, with just the right amount of gravel.

Dee raises her glass, claps, and calls, all while bobbing her head in time to the tune. Kate, however, watches Billy with proud—but serious—eyes. I guess some of the lyrics are kind of sad, in a way. Poignant.

They talk about toasting love, good times, mistakes, and moving on.

Warren hits the last note of the song perfectly, and the whole place erupts in applause. Kate smiles and stands when he comes back to the table, telling Billy he did a great job. I shake his hand and say the same. While Dee goes for the more exuberant approach. “Awesome job, Jackass!” Then she hugs him until he turns red.

Kate excuses herself to the bathroom. And I turn to Delores. “So . . . I guess your cousin got all the musical genes in the family, huh?”

Billy adds, “I see you’ve sampled Dee-Dee’s singing skills.”

“Screw you both—I’m an excellent singer.”

Her cousin chuckles. “Sure you are, Rain Man. Cats come from miles around just to hear you—hoping to get lucky.”

I laugh and tap my beer bottle to Warren’s. Then he ducks as Dee whips a pretzel at his head.

Kate sits back down next to Billy, and I can’t help but notice the space between their chairs. Billy leans forward and says, “So . . . I’ve got some news. That music producer who came to my gig a few months back called. He wants me to come out to California . . . says he can get me into a studio.”

Dee smiles joyously. “Oh my God! That’s fantastic!”

But judging by the look on her face, fantastic isn’t what Kate thinks it is at all.

“When . . . when did this happen?” she asks.

Billy shrugs. “A few days ago.” He sips his beer.

“Why am I just hearing about it now?”

Tension sweeps across the air like a swarm of locusts.

Billy stares hard. “When was I supposed to tell you, Kate? You’re never around.”

Her frown deepens. “We live together.”

“And even when you’re at the apartment, you’re not there.”

She looks away and pushes a hand through her hair. Delores watches them—worriedly—like a child of divorce stuck between two bickering parents.

“I can’t . . .” Kate starts. “I can’t go to California now.”

Billy keeps his eyes on his beer bottle. “Yeah . . . I know. That’s why I’m going by myself.”

Kate looks completely blindsided—hurt, and a little angry.

“But . . . we had a plan. You supported me when I was in school and now I . . . it’s my turn to do that for you.”

Billy pushes his chair back from the table. Defensive frustration makes his hands clench and his expression tight. “Well, plans change, Katie. I mean really, will you even fucking notice when I’m gone? ’Cause it sure doesn’t feel like you will.”

She’s about to ask what he means. It’s right there on the tip of her tongue. But she stops short and says, “I don’t want to fight.”

This just pisses Warren off more. “Of course you don’t want to fight. You don’t want to do anything with me these days! You’re too busy to go anywhere—”

“I’m working!”

He ignores her. “You don’t want to argue, or talk; you don’t want to have sex . . .”

Kate’s cheeks flush pink, but I can’t tell if it’s because she’s embarrassed or mad.

“All you want to do is look over your fucking files and decide what suit you should wear to the office.”

“That’s not fair!”

“I know business is a man’s world, but I didn’t know you had to dress the part.”

Delores jumps in. “Don’t be a dick, Billy.”

“Stay out of it, Dee-Dee.”

With fire in her eyes, Kate gets in her financé’s face. “Screw you.”

He laughs in a bitter way. “Interesting choice of words. I’m not sure who you’ve been screwing lately, but it hasn’t been me.”

Kate stands up and rips her purse off the back of the chair. “I’m going home. Good night, Matthew. Dee, I’ll call you.”

As Kate walks out the door, Warren stands up to follow her, but Dee grabs his arm.

“Billy! Don’t . . . don’t say things you can’t take back . . . things you and I both know you don’t mean.”

All he does is nod. Then he’s out the door too.

Dee takes a long drink of her martini. “Well, that just happened.”

“Think they’ll be okay?” I ask.

“No. I’m sure they’ll make up, stay together—do the long-distance thing. But they haven’t been okay in a long time. Their relationship is like a morgue . . . lifeless. And Billy’s right. I can’t remember the last time they argued before tonight.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” I wonder, finishing off my beer.

“Not for them. They don’t not argue because they’re happy—they don’t fight because, I think, deep down where neither of them wants to admit, there’s nothing worth fighting for.”

The most successful marriages and relationships are between best friends—who want to fuck each other. Trusted confidants who can’t keep their hands off each other. When you’ve been with the same person for years, it’s supposed to get comfortable. Broken in. Like a well-worn favorite pair of sweatpants.

But there has to be heat—desperate attraction. A craving need. Sometimes, like Steven and Alexandra, it comes in waves. They indulge it, when the demands of life let them. But if the
passion is gone and you can’t be bothered to even try and rekindle the flame—all you have is friendship. Companionship.

At eighty years old, that may very well be enough. But at frigging twenty-five? You’re just settling for the status quo.

“You ready to head out?” Delores asks.

“Yep. Looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”

She pumps her fist. “Weekend warriors . . . on a Wednesday. Let’s do it.”

Delores and I spend the next few hours bar-hopping. We play darts and pool. She takes me for fifty bucks on our last game because I didn’t realize I was dealing with a practiced hustler.

I should have known.

Ultimately we end up at a club—pressing and grinding together on the crowded dance floor. But the whole time, Dee’s more subdued than usual. She seems weighed down. Disquieted. Not the unpredictable and jovial girl I’ve come to know the last few weeks.

I call it a night—much earlier than past years—and we go back to her place. Once there, we crash on the couch and talk about nothing . . . and everything. Eventually, the subject of pets comes up, and I tell her all about King, the massive black Great Dane I grew up with. I genuinely loved that big hairy bastard, so I’m kind of horrified when Delores tells me, “I never had a dog.”

“Really? Never? Not even like . . . a Chihuahua?”

She shakes her head. “I had a hamster—they’re pretty self-
sufficient. My mother never wanted the responsibility of a dog. Plus, there was the drool phobia.”

I grin, ’cause I can already tell this is gonna be a good one.

“The what?”

“Drool phobia. I have a long-standing aversion to any man or animal with over-productive saliva glands.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I can handle wet kisses—you already know that. They’re hot when I’m caught up in the moment. But too much saliva is nasty. And spitting, drooling—those are deal breakers. Makes me nauseous.”

Delores isn’t bothered by dirt or sweat or sloppiness. She’s not afraid of rodents—even the cat-size rats that scour the city and are pretty fucking frightening if you ask me. She’s in love with my motorcycle and actually likes snakes. So, I can’t help but find this quirk—this chink in her otherwise “doesn’t give a shit” armor—cute. Funny.

And I want to fuck with her about it.

The nine-year-old boy inside me—the one who was amused by dangling a long-legged spider in Alexandra’s face, despite the consequences that always followed—takes over my body. It’s the only explanation for what I do next.

“So . . . it would bother you if I did this?” I scrape my nasal passage loudly then hawk the thick ball of phlegm up to the back of my throat.

Delores leans back, closes her eyes disgustedly, and holds up her hands. “Do
not
do that.”

I swallow my spit and taunt, “And I guess you really wouldn’t want me to do a John Bender in front of you.”

John Bender—
The Breakfast Club
. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, watch and learn.

She actually looks a little panicked. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

I smile wide. Then I tilt my head back, open my mouth and launch an impressive loogie wad up into the air. It gets some distance, hangs for a moment, then falls back into my waiting mouth. Before I can say “tasty,” Dee is up on her feet screaming.