She nodded and started setting the dishes on the counter.
“You’re seeing him again?” Al asked. Lou looked at the envelope as water dripped off her gloves onto her bare feet.
“What? . . . Um . . . no?” The words came out slowly, as if she had to search for them. Her eyes darted into the hall. Did she want him to go? But Al had to know more.
“Are you considering going back to him?”
Lou looked at Al, the line deepening. This was none of his business. He shouldn’t even be asking. He should accept the friendship she was offering.
“I’m trying to do what’s best for me.”
She licked her lips.
Al opened his mouth, but before he could respond Lou took a step toward him.
“What do you think?”
Al wanted to shout “Not him.” But someone like Devlin could always take care of Lou. Al’s job depended on the fickleness of newspaper readers. He had to go where the work was. The clock bonged the hour.
“Wow, it’s late. I should go.” He left the kitchen, picked his light coat off a hook, and opened the door. Lou followed.
“So, Al, you don’t have an opinion on what would be best?” she asked.
Al froze in the doorway and turned. Lou was close by, inches away, leaning on the partially opened door. He could feel his coat brushing her arm. Al looked into the warm brown eyes, swallowed, lips pressed together.
“It’s not my opinion that matters. Is it?” Al’s blue eyes scanned Lou’s face, wishing that he could say what he really thought without risking their friendship.
Lou’s shoulders sagged a little, and a sigh escaped her lips.
“I should finish my cleaning. Good night, Al.” Lou quickly leaned in and kissed Al on the cheek. Lou slowly pulled back, their faces close together, breath mingling. Lou moistened her lips. Al watched her closely, then closed his eyes and backed away. “Good night, Lou.” He turned away and walked quickly down the steps. He wanted to haul her into his arms, but he wasn’t the best choice for her, was he? He stopped, turned, and looked back up the stairs. He remembered Devlin at Irish Fest. Arrogant, talking of their plan. He didn’t want a wife; he wanted a personal chef he could sleep with. Lou deserved adoration, not servitude.
He took the steps back up two at a time.
• • • • •
Lou had closed the door slowly, then leaned against it, eyes shut, and nibbled the inside of her cheek. Damn. She sighed deeply and opened her eyes to look at her newly empty apartment. She could hear cars on the street, doors closing, and the TV on in a neighboring apartment. Her apartment was still, but her heart pounded. She had been so close to telling him how she felt, showing him. She pushed herself off the door and headed to the kitchen to finish cleaning.
Before she reached the kitchen, a soft knock broke the silence. Lou peeked out the hole to see it was Al, cheeks flushed from running back up the steps. Lou opened the door, brow furrowed, wondering what he forgot.
A saucy grin spread across his face. Lou beamed, eyes wide. Al stepped toward her and Lou took a surprised step back. Without taking his hungry eyes off Lou, Al closed the door and dropped his coat to the floor. He grabbed Lou and pulled her tight with one arm, the other hand buried deep into her hair. His blue eyes reminded her of when fire burned too hot.
“I’m best for you, Lou.”
Al touched his lips to hers, pulling her even closer. Lou responded with her entire body, kissing back. She wrapped one leg around his legs, tightening to pull him even closer.
Al turned her back to the door and pressed her into it. She groaned as he rubbed himself firmly against her. He kissed her neck, then pulled back so she could yank off his T-shirt. She looked him up and down, bit her lip, then grabbed him by the belt buckle to lead him into her bedroom, kissing him again and bumping into walls along the way. She clumsily unbuckled his belt and began unbuttoning his jeans.
“This is getting uneven rather quickly.” Al yanked open Lou’s shirt, buttons popping off, to reveal a lacy red bra. Al raised an eyebrow and grinned.
Lou blushed. “I was hopeful.”
“Thank God for hope.” Al bent his head to kiss along her collarbone, and Lou tilted back her head to give him all the room he needed.
“Mmm, you taste like vanilla ice cream.” He pushed her shirt off her shoulder, going to his knees to get it over her hands. His mouth traced tender kisses over her cleavage and onto her shivering stomach.
His agile hands set the shirt on the floor. He touched her ankles, then slid his hands up her legs to her knee. Lou watched him with breathless wonder. His deft hands traced the path up her legs, circling slowly, as if polishing a precious stone. Al nudged her to sit on the bed and kissed her again, slowly and deeply, one hand on her face, the other on her thigh. Lou forgot everything but her racing pulse, the brush of his skin, and the heat of Al’s lips on hers.
• • • • •
As far as dreams went, this one was particularly odd. He was an octopus, wrapping his arms around a beautiful mermaid with dark hair and pale skin. No question who that was supposed to be. Every time she moved, he pulled her closer. Even underwater she smelled like vanilla. He pulled her tighter.
“Shit,” the mermaid said. Pretty foulmouthed for a mermaid.
“Dammit, let go,” she said. This time she pinched one of his tentacles. Grunt. He pulled her tighter. Why wouldn’t she just stay still? Then they would be so happy together. He felt a harder pinch.
“Al, I’m late. I have to get up.”
Al pried open one heavy lid to see Lou’s lovely white backside leave the bed and disappear into her bathroom. He shook his head a little to forget the weird dream and focus on what had happened. He could hear water running in the bathroom, so he took the opportunity to take stock. Last night had been amazing. Sure, they’d had their awkward moments, but all in all, he couldn’t remember having had more fun in bed with anyone. And he realized he wanted her back in it—now. He rolled on his side to make his intentions less obvious.
Al started making lists. He’d let Hannah know his long-term plans, then take Lou out on a real date, and maybe get an extra key made for his apartment. But first, he should tell her about his real job—that shouldn’t wait one more day, one more second.
Al heard the water turn off and said loudly, “What’s the hurry? It’s not even seven.”
Lou cracked the door a few inches so they wouldn’t have to shout. Al could hear her moving about but couldn’t see her.
“I have to meet the fish guy at seven thirty. He gets cranky when I’m late. Nobody likes a cranky fish guy.”
“Fish guy? Your office has fish?” Al knew that didn’t sound right. As he said it, his stomach had already started the slow plummet. Lou emerged from the bathroom wearing a plain white cotton V-neck T-shirt, the kind you buy three packs of in the men’s department, and black-and-white checked chef pants. The slow plummet became a bobsled racing down an icy track. She opened her top drawer and began digging. Al quickly sat up, heart racing, his breath coming in shallow pants. All the blood got sucked into the black hole forming in his chest, turning his skin pale and cold. He had to work up some saliva so he could ask his question.
“You’re a chef?”
“Yeah, you didn’t know that?”
“You never said. We agreed to never talk about work. You had copier problems. I thought you worked in an office.”
Lou thought for a moment, balancing on one foot then the other to put on her socks.
“Oh yeah. No, I own my own restaurant. At least for now anyway. And our copier breaks down once a month, but I can’t afford to get a new one.” Lou looked up at Al. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”
He nodded and swallowed, dreading the next question, hoping to any higher being that might be listening that his suspicion wasn’t true.
“Which restaurant?”