The Best Laid Plans (18 page)

“Count me in!”

This he could work with. It wasn’t the three-week-away-commitment bothering her into not inviting him. It was something about the reunion. Maybe she had more issues with the past than he’d thought. But it wasn’t a problem with spending time with him.

Still. “Too bad you’re busy that weekend.” He kissed her fingertips.

“Why? Would you have invited me along?”

“Maybe. But only if you promised to be very, very bad.”

“Is that what you meant by spending more time together?”

“Not exclusively, but in part, yes.”

“Too bad I can’t come then.” No way she was missing the reunion.

“Challenge accepted.”

“What?”

He parted her thighs with his hands.

***

He’d almost lost her there with the whole ‘spending more time together’ thing. Most women were all about commitment. He should have known Jayne would be head shy. Truthfully, he just really wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted to hold her close, and be with her, stupid because he was supposed to break her heart soon.

It was dumb to be getting … attached. But he’d entered the relationship with years more time on her. To her, this connection was only a month old. Nothing to write home about.

Maybe it could be, maybe not. He had no idea what to do. No one to ask for advice without sounding like the world’s biggest scumbag. He
felt
like the world’s biggest scumbag. But he didn’t know what to do.

He’d gone to sleep with his mind tangled up in knots about what he should do. He woke up curled around the truth. Jayne’s body radiated a comforting heat that sleep gave her. He was in way over his head, but how could he have known that he’d end up falling for her? He’d just wanted to get under her skin so far she couldn’t scratch him out, break her heart, and then strut off into the sunset, vindicated after all these years. But now, he wanted to be with her. And worse – stay with her. But was that even possible?

How could they have a future, be anything when he’d gone into this whole situation like she meant nothing? He kissed her shoulder, knowing he wasn’t worthy of her, but unable to let her go. Not yet. He was an utter bastard, caught in the clutches of his selfishness where he could pretend they had a real future together. A relationship free from the scars of the past.

He hadn’t realized he’d dozed off again until he woke up alone. He woke up knowing. It was sick. The silence of the apartment told him she’d gone before he visually confirmed she’d left. A white paper bag sat on the counter.

Meet me at The Neurotic Grape at ten tonight! XXX
.

The words were drawn on the bag with a pen that still lay beside it. Inside the bag was a cinnamon roll, his favorite. She’d gone to the coffee shop and brought him a sweet breakfast for when he woke up.

Such a small, sweet, considerate thing to do.

He was such an asshole.

And he had to let her go.

Or tell her the truth.

Tonight.

Whether he knew it or not, his words on the balcony had been just the boost Jayne needed. She’d woken up wanting to do something sweet for him, so she’d tiptoed out, bought him breakfast, and tiptoed back in to leave it on the counter. On impulse, she invited him to one of her favorite old haunts, The Neurotic Grape.

Delicious cocktails, great music, and always feeling like one of the hottest women in the place, no wonder The Neurotic Grape had been a favorite haunt. She hadn’t gone in a while, but that probably still held true. She wanted to hang out in a place where Malcolm could see other men interested in her. Not to make him jealous, but to show that she was with him. God, what had her acting so domesticated?

Whatever. She forced the future from her thoughts, and walked up the steps to the Neurotic Grape. A burly security guard sat inside the front door, and asked to scan her ID. Carded at twenty-seven?

“It’s a bit rowdy tonight.” His gaze roved up her heels and bare legs, and took in the long charcoal suit and thin blouse she wore.

“I can handle it.” She winked. “My bodyguard will be along soon.”

He handed her ID back, and she slipped it in her purse. Rowdy was her middle name, but why was there security? The Grape had always been Rock and Roll meets Wine Snob chic, and was always hip and mellow. Alcohol always increased the odds of a fight breaking out, but had it changed so much in the eight or so months since her last visit?

She turned the corner and stepped into the main room and knew exactly how the wildebeest felt amidst a pack of hungry lions. Hungry eyes in tanned faces turned her way as one. Guys were blinged to within an inch of their lives, and adorned with enough hair gel to give Rapunzel a Mohawk. Jayne made sure not to make eye contact with anyone on her way to the bar.

“Can I get you a drink?” A clumsy hand brushed her forearm. She pulled away and spoke without looking at the hand’s owner.

“No thanks.”

The bartender noticed her, and she ordered an amaretto and orange juice.

“On the house,” he said, sliding the glass across the bar. Jayne smiled and slid a twenty into his tip jar. She’d waitressed for two of the longest weeks of her life the summer before college. She’d over tipped wait staff ever since.

Taking a fortifying sip, she turned to find a table. Most people were standing which increased the odds of finding one, but their bodies blocked her view. She’d have to wander.

“Hey.”

Jayne shone a thin-lipped smile at the tall blond guy, but kept walking. She sought a table, not a conversation.

Ha! She spotted the corner of an empty table and triumphantly strutted toward it, only realizing when she got up close that there was someone sitting at it. A tall guy had blocked the person from view.

“Hey, pull up a chair, little lady.”

She hated when people used that expression. It reeked of the old west, which had been full of misogynistic douchebags. And syphilis. Not a great association for a pet name.

“I’m actually meeting someone.” She turned on her heel and sipped her drink, scouting for another table. There had to be
something
. The room tilted as the arm not holding her drink was yanked toward the table. Her ass hit a chair and she sat down hard, only just managing not to spill her drink.

“What the fuck!” She spat out the words at the guy sitting at the table and violently snatched her arm free of his grip.

“Your friend can join us when she gets here.”

She wanted to punch the guyliner off his face. “There is no she, and my boyfriend won’t be interested in you.”

“Well we can play for a while until he gets here.”

A tall form materialized by the table. “Pretty sure she’s not interested, bro.” An attractive Polynesian-looking guy dressed like hip hop’s poster child flexed at Guyliner. “You go on.” He winked at Jayne and nodded his head for her to go. She went.

Two more guys hit on her before she managed to snag a table with a view of the entrance, if not the front door. She had become used to attention from guys, but this was ridiculous. Normally she found it a bit annoying, a lot flattering, but never offensive – until now. Realization smacked her in the back of the head.

She only wanted
Malcolm
to look at her, to touch her arm, to take the open chair at her table. It felt strange, wanting to be ignored by everyone but him. But it sort of felt right. What did that mean? She sipped her drink and dug in her purse for her phone to check the time. Ten-fifteen. No Malcolm yet. She kind of wished they’d met at his place so she could be alone with him and this new feeling.

“Hey babe.”

She smiled at oh … Not Malcolm, but wow he’d sounded like him for a second. “Sorry, but someone’s meeting me, and I need that chair.” As in get the hell out of it. She stared pointedly at him and then away from the table.

“I’ll move when he gets here, how about that?” He grinned, and a small dimple appeared on his left cheek. Bet the ladies fell for his dark-curled-light-eyed charm. Not this time.

“Or you could leave now.” She glanced at the entrance, hoping to see Malcolm turn the corner and look for her.

“You’re not dressed like the other girls here. I like your blouse. Silk, right?”

“Yeah. I just came here from work.”

“Banker?”

“Nope.” Why wasn’t he leaving? And why hadn’t Malcolm shown up yet? That man was punctual to a fault.

“What’s your name?”

“I need another drink.” She stalked off, losing herself in the crowd, but headed for the door instead of the bar. What a creep. She needed some air, and quiet to call Malcolm. Hopefully he’d noticed the note she’d written on the breakfast bag. No, he definitely would have. He always noticed little things like that.

It was no fun being alone tonight.

***

Despite the hours trickling by painfully slowly, all too soon he had to meet Jayne. If only there was a pause button he could press to give him time to figure all this out, figure out what he should say. But the more he thought about it the more conflicted he felt. So he called a cab, and spent the ride trying not to think of anything.

The Neurotic Grape was a popular club that featured a high-end wine bar, but also had raunchy live rock. It blended two different demographics together with varied success, hence the large amount of security needed to keep the patrons from getting too unruly. They also had varied success.

It had gotten worse the past few months, Malcolm had played there a couple times, didn’t particularly like the venue but Jayne had chosen it.

Malcolm walked up the path to the bar’s door, and stepped inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

If I stay with her, I’ll have to tell her who I am. She’ll find out sooner or later. And she’ll remember me, there’s no way she won’t. She’s smart enough to know there isn’t any way I’d not have recognized her name. She’ll wonder why I didn’t say anything. Why I continued seeing her, making love with her, when our history should make that impossible.

He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes late already. He hadn’t seen her yet, he could easily just leave.

What’s the point of carrying on this relationship? Was he really going to break it off after all this? Could he? The music pounded too loudly, he needed to think.

And get away. To just walk away from this whole fiasco right now.

Maybe.

Pushing back outside, he pulled his phone from his pocket. No missed calls yet. He couldn’t meet Jayne tonight. Breaking up with her might break her heart; she definitely cared about him, if not loved him. But he didn’t want to. He saw his plan for what it was. Mean, and childish, and destined to fail. Jayne deserved better than that. It wasn’t the plan of a man, it was the scheme of a little boy. So what if she’d hurt him back then? She’d just been a kid.

I’d just been a kid then too, though. And I’d never have done to anyone what she did to me.

She’d been a kid! He was a grown adult, trying to run a play on her. And succeeding. He stomped around the corner of the building, followed the dark sidewalk half the length of the building and leaned against the wall, swallowed by shadows not quite deep enough to hide his shame. His phone softly glowed as he typed in a text.

Jayne. Sorry I can’t make it, something’s come up. See you tomorrow?

Delete. He tried again.

Babe. I’m running late, I’ll be there soon. xx

Delete. If he decided to meet her, he could just walk in there now and find her. Unless he was going to make her wait there for him, and intentionally not show up.

I’ll be there in

Delete.

We need to talk. I’m not who I say I am.

Delete. Fuck. He didn’t even know what he wanted to do. Break up, or stay together. No, that wasn’t true. Not even a fraction of him wanted to break up with Jayne. But he couldn’t stay with her and not tell her the truth. And he couldn’t meet her and tell her here. And he couldn’t tell her on the phone. Maybe he should just break up with her.

He could end the relationship right now by being direct. No more games. Well, semi-direct, and say it just wasn’t working out. She’d be mad, and hurt, but eventually get over it. And they could both move on with their lives. Their miserable, empty lives. They were great together, going their separate ways was a damned shame, and a waste, and probably the right thing to do. He shoved his phone into his pocket.

It wasn’t fair on either of them. But fuck fair. It wasn’t fair for him to not be with her. Jayne deserved to know the whole truth and decide for herself. But he couldn’t tell her tonight, his head was a mess.
I’ll go home, work out what I’m going to say, and sleep on it. Tomorrow, Jayne will call, wondering where I was, and I’ll have her come over. And I’ll tell her everything in private and in person.

“Malcolm!

His head spun towards the front of the bar where her playful voice had come from. His heart kicked up its pace, and he felt his limbs deaden at the thought of confrontation. But Jayne wasn’t looking at him. She spoke into her phone.