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“That’s another quarter.”
“‘Ass’ isn’t a cuss word.”
“Says who—” He stopped himself and heaved a big sigh. “Never mind. You sidetracked me from the subject. Do you want to go get something to eat or not?”
“I’d rather have Chinese than a burger.”
Another sigh. “Fine. We’ll eat Chinese.”
“I like that place on Twelve Mile Road.”
“All right,” he yelled.
She gave him a brilliant smile. “I’ll go change.”
“So will I. Five minutes.”
Jaine hurried into the house, well aware that he was hurrying as well. He didn’t think she could change in five minutes, did he? She’d show him.
She stripped to the skin as she raced to the bedroom. BooBoo trailed after her, meowing plaintively. It was long past his dinnertime. She pulled on a pair of dry panties, hooked herself into a dry bra, pulled a red short-sleeved knit top over her head, jerked on a pair of white jeans, and stepped into sandals. She ran back into the kitchen and opened a can of food for BooBoo, dumped it into his plate, grabbed her purse, and was out the door just as Sam jumped off his kitchen porch and headed to his garage.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I am not. Besides, you only had to change clothes. I changed clothes and fed the cat.”
He had a modern garage door. He pressed the button on the control in his hand, and it slid up like oiled silk. She sighed, assailed by a bad case of garage-door envy. Then, in the light that came on automatically when the door opened, she saw the gleaming red monster. Chrome twin pipes. Chrome roll bar. Tires so big she would have had to vault into the seat if he hadn’t also had chrome bars to aid those not blessed with his length of leg.
“Oh,” she breathed, and clasped her hands. “This is just what I wanted until I saw the Viper.”
“Bench seats,” he said, and lifted a wicked eyebrow at her. “If you’re really good, after you get on the pill and your eggs are under control, I’ll let you seduce me in the truck.”
She managed not to react. Thank God he didn’t realize how tenuous her self-control really was, though it was the thought of seducing him rather than the location that revved her up again.
“Nothing to say?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Oh, damn,” he said as he put both hands around her waist and effortlessly lifted her into the cab. “Now I’m worried.”
Marci’s plan hadn’t worked. T.J. faced the inevitable after the third reporter called. God, why didn’t this thing just go away? What was so fascinating about a funny list? Not that Galan would think it was at all funny, she thought, depressed. He didn’t seem to think anything was funny anymore, unless it was something that happened at work.
He had been so much fun when they were dating, full of laughter and jokes. Where had that cheerful boy gone?
They didn’t even see each other much anymore. She worked eight to five, he worked three to eleven. By the time he got home, she was asleep. He didn’t get up until after she had left for work. The most telling thing, she thought, was that he didn’t have to work the three to eleven shift. He had chosen it. If his intention had been to get away from her, she thought, he had accomplished his aim.
Maybe their marriage was already over and she simply hadn’t faced the fact. Maybe Galan didn’t want to have children because he knew it was on the rocks.
The thought made her chest hurt, deep inside. She loved him. Rather, she loved the person she knew he was, inside the surly exterior that was all she had seen for the past few years. If she were sleepy or thinking of something else and he popped into mind, the face she saw was the young, laughing Galan, the one she had loved so desperately in high school. She loved the clumsy, fumbling, eager, loving Galan who had made love to her, the first time for both of them, in the back of his dad’s Oldsmobile. She loved the man who had brought her a single red rose on their first anniversary because he couldn’t afford a dozen.
She didn’t love the man who hadn’t said “I love you” in so long she couldn’t remember the last time.
T.J. felt so helpless, compared to her friends. If anyone tried to give Marci guff, she blew him off and looked for someone to fill his shoes—or rather, her bed. Luna was upset over Shamal, but she didn’t sit at home waiting for him; she carried on with her life. And as for Jaine—Jaine was complete in a way T.J. knew she herself wasn’t. Whatever life handed her, Jaine faced with humor and guts. Not one of the three would take the grief from Galan that she had been silently enduring for over two years.
She hated her own weakness. What would happen if she and Galan split? They would have to sell the house, and she loved her house, but so what? She could live in an apartment. Jaine had lived in one for years. T.J. could live alone, though she never had. She would learn to handle everything herself. She would get a cat—no, a dog, for protection. And she would date again. What would it be like to spend time with a man who didn’t insult her every time he opened his mouth?
When the phone rang, she knew it was Galan. Her hand was steady when she lifted the receiver.
“Have you lost your mind?” were his first words. He was breathing heavily, telling her he had worked himself into a rage.
