Take Me Twice. Isabel Sharpe

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СКАЧАТЬ No way could she afford the rent on this place by herself all summer with no salary.

      But this wasn’t about her. And even pushing aside her selfish concerns, she genuinely thought Monica was making a mistake. No man was worth running back to Iowa. Not after Monica had worked so hard to make her dream of living in the Big Apple come true.

      “You can’t let him win like that.” Laine gestured impatiently. “You can’t toss aside your independence and career and dream just because one big, butthead male hurt you. You’re made of sterner stuff than that.”

      “That’s not all.” She sniffed and tried another pocket.

      “Oh.” Laine went for the box of Kleenex, half feeling as though she might need one herself. “Well, what else?”

      “Mr. Antworth made another pass at me this afternoon, and I quit.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose, then went back to her misery-impaired packing.

      Laine’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, you’re right. This was a seriously awful day. Mr. Antworth should have a dick-ectomy. But you can press charges. You can fight to get your job back and bring him down. Or get another job. You don’t have to—”

      “And my mom’s back in rehab.”

      Laine took two steps west until the back of her knees hit her couch. She sat. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Oh my God, Monica.”

      Monica closed her suitcase and zipped it. “I’m going home. My dad needs me, and I need to get out of here.”

      “Oh, God, yes. Okay, yes. Is there anything I can do?”

      “I’m really sorry to leave you like this.” Monica started crying again. “I know you wanted to take the summer off.”

      “No! No.” Laine waved her concerns away. “I’ll be fine. It’s June, there must be tons of people looking for a place to live. It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. You just take care of yourself.”

      “Thanks.” Monica lugged her suitcase off the couch. “I better go.”

      “Now?” Laine blinked at her stupidly. “You’re leaving now?”

      “My plane leaves at nine tonight. I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff or send for it or…something. I just can’t deal with it now.”

      “Oh. Okay.” Laine nodded even more stupidly. Her brain was barely taking this in. Instinct told her Monica was doing this all wrong, that making a major life change should be done in a calmer, more rational mindset than she was in today.

      One more look at the confused misery in her roomie’s eyes and the solution hit. “Leave the stuff here. I’ll find someone temporary to see me through for a while. Take a couple of weeks at home, or a month, or two, and see how you feel. If you change your mind the place is still yours. Okay?”

      Monica’s face crumpled in gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Yes, okay. I just need to get out of here now.”

      Laine hugged her. “I understand. I really do. The place will be waiting. You take your time and sort things out.”

      “Thanks for everything.” Monica stepped back and wiped at her face with the by-now-soggy tissue, rapidly turning gray with a little help from Maybelline. “Say goodbye to Gentle Ben for me. I’ll miss all the flowers.”

      “I’ll have every other bouquet forwarded.” Laine laughed unsteadily. “Stay in touch. You know the number.”

      “I will, I will.” Monica sniffed once more and wheeled her suitcase out of the apartment. The door slammed behind her. Laine stared at it.

      “She’ll be back, won’t she?”

      The door didn’t answer. The apartment seemed eerily silent.

      Laine crossed her arms over her chest, wandered into the bathroom and turned on the water to wash her workday makeup off. Poor Monica. Hit from every direction at once.

      The cold water faucet squeaked on its way to off. Laine grabbed her pink towel and held it to her dripping face. Monica had been the best roommate she’d found, the friend of a friend of a friend. They fit perfectly. Similar habits, tastes, schedules, temperaments. How likely was it she could find someone like that again?

      Not very.

      How likely was it that she could find someone like that again immediately, who would be willing to be booted out on a moment’s notice if Monica decided to come back?

      Even less.

      She pulled the towel down and looked at her pink-scrubbed face in the mirror, pulled the scrunchy off her ponytail and let her hair dissolve into a blunt, shoulder-length, too-straight mane around her face. For the past six months Laine had looked forward to this summer, free from work, free from relationships, looked forward to this free-from-responsibilities blast-off period for a new rewarding chapter of her life.

      Now, unless she could find an instant miracle roommate, that freedom, that cherished vision of a playtime summer all her own wasn’t going to happen.

      GRAYSON ALEXANDER’s clock radio went off—6:00 a.m. He groaned and opened his eyes reluctantly. Extremely reluctantly. Because before National Public Radio news had come on with a story about Wisconsin dairy farmers, he’d been nestled between two of the most fabulous legs he’d ever come across in all his thirty-two years. Legs that knew exactly what they were doing. It had been years since they’d been wrapped around him, but he’d never forget them. And if his subconscious had anything to do with it, he’d never stop wishing to be back between them.

      He reached out, thumped the snooze button on top of his clock radio and buried his head back in his pillow, trying to recapture the vivid clarity of the dream. He could still almost smell her, that incredible scent she wore, could almost feel the softness of her skin. The dreams he had about Laine were totally different from the dreams he had about anything or anyone else. They were so real he always woke up—hard as granite, yes—but also feeling as if there was something he should do, as if the dreams brought some message he shouldn’t—and generally couldn’t—ignore.

      Usually he called Judy, his and Laine’s friend from college. He’d ask how things were, chat uncomfortably for a while, knowing he wasn’t fooling her a bit by pretending interest in her life, and eventually he’d ask what Laine was up to. Was she happy? Was she thriving? And, damn it, always that question that could never come out sounding casual and disinterested no matter how hard he tried—was she seeing anyone? Invariably she was, though rarely the same guy as the last time he and Judy had spoken.

      The weird thing was, he always seemed to have these dreams when her life had changed in some way—another job didn’t work out, another man bit the dust—which freaked him right out. Purportedly, he didn’t buy into all that mystical collective unconscious stuff. Nor did he believe he and Laine had some special link, though God knew he’d never come close to feeling what he did for her with anyone else. But he sure as hell couldn’t explain this. Worse, rather than being satisfied having found out what Laine was up to, he’d hang up from the calls feeling frustrated and angry, and never able to put his finger on why.

      Then a few months or a year down the road, he’d dream another dream, and do the entire stupid-assed routine again. Doubtless this morning, СКАЧАТЬ