Indulge Me

An hour later she’d gone through her dad’s study, occasionally weepy, mostly stoic, and made piles—give away, sell, toss. She’d paused over a painting of a ship on Lake Michigan for quite a while. Derek Houston had painted it for Dad probably a quarter century ago. For decades Derek was their backyard neighbor over on 64th Street. He’d died some years ago, but his widow, Marjory, still lived there, or had last spring, last time Darcy had been around. Confidentially, Darcy hated the bright surreal colors and crooked lines, but she hated to give the painting away even more, since her dad had loved it so much. Derek’s widow should have it back.

She glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. Marjory would be up by now. When Darcy was a girl out of bed for school at six-thirty every morning, bleary-eyed and annoyed at the hour, she’d seen her neighbor drinking coffee in her yard, watching birds at her feeder even on the coldest mornings. Darcy could take the painting to her right now. One less thing to do later.

With the canvas carefully swaddled in enough bubble wrap to protect an empty robin’s egg, Darcy took the shortcut, pushing through the arbor vitae that Dad had planted ten years earlier at the back of the yard for privacy, now a thick tall row of sentry trees. The painting she lifted over the back fence then dropped gently to the ground, and followed with a quick climb over. A jump and she was in the Houstons’ yard, then on their driveway, remembering other climbs here to retrieve over enthusiastically tossed balls or Frisbees.

Marjory Houston had been wonderful when Dad was in bad shape before Darcy moved him to the hospice. She’d baked cookies to tempt his appetite when he started losing so much weight, offered to stay with him now and then so Darcy could get some relief. Darcy felt guilty that during the past year spent in Madison to be closer to Greg, she hadn’t visited or called to see if Marjory needed anything.

The last twelve months had been a strange combination of selfless and selfish. Selfless because she’d stayed to help Greg through the long painful struggle back to his old self, physically and mentally, even though she’d wanted out of the relationship. And selfish because she’d spent too much time in self-pity and resentment, and stopped nurturing friends and therefore herself.

She stepped up the brick steps of Marjory’s walkway, grinning at the stone lions pompously posed atop waist-high brick columns on either side, as if Marjory lived in Versailles and not a typical Midwestern bungalow. It would be good to see her. A slice of Darcy’s childhood, precious for still being around.

The doorbell echoed through the house. Was she home?

She was. Footsteps, then the door swung open and—

So did Darcy’s mouth.

“Hi.” He was obviously very surprised to see her, but not nearly as very surprised as she was to see him. “Good morning.”

“What are you doing here?”

He looked taken aback. “I live here.”

“You live here?”

“I think that’s what I just said.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Somehow she’d forgotten that or hadn’t noticed and now she was even more flustered because it was extremely sexy.

“Where is Marjory?”

“Ah. Marjory.” His smile dimmed. “She had a stroke. We had to put her in an assisted-living facility.”

“Oh, no.” She hugged the painting to her, feeling even more guilty now for not keeping up with her neighbor and friend, staring at the last person she’d expected to see. Then something he said penetrated.

“You put her in an assisted-living facility?”

“I’m her great-nephew.” Then he stuck out his hand as if they hadn’t spent the previous night sweating and straining toward gigantic climaxes together, but were meeting for the first time.

“Tyler Houston.”

Oh, my Lord. Tyler Houston. Big brother of Katie, her erstwhile track teammate, and awkward little brother of Cameron Houston. Cam was every schoolgirl’s bad-boy dream come true; true to form, he’d met a wasteful and tragic end in early adulthood. No wonder Tyler had looked familiar. Trust Darcy to think that sense of déjà vu was some sign from the universe rather than the simple fact that she actually did know him. Vaguely anyway.

“I’m…” She took one hand away from the bubble-wrapped painting to shake his, and her perspiring skin made an embarrassing sucking-tearing sound as it separated from the plastic.

“Darcy Wolf.”

“Wow. Darcy Wolf.” He shook her hand, staring at her as if she were the big bad one. Then he dropped his arm and chuckled, but not as if something were funny in a good way.

She was pretty sure she knew what he was thinking. Both of them had gone into last night as a fantasy, the chance to leave behind their real identities and follow a powerful attraction to its passionate conclusion without baggage or expectations.

Now it turned out they had a shared past, more parallel than intertwined, but related certainly. There were many people Darcy didn’t want to find out that she’d stripped to seduce a workman at her house, and he would know a lot of them. In fact, Molly’s husband, Bruce, was a distant cousin of his.

She’d bet Tyler was about as happy to discover who she was as she was to discover who he was. Namely: not.

“Well.” She could feel herself blushing and stupidly clutched the painting harder as if she could cool her face that way. At least she’d told no-longer-Garrett that he was her first seduction, so he couldn’t tell anyone she probably made getting naked for strangers a habit. On the other hand, he might be enough of a gentleman not to tell anyone at all. That would be nice. “Tyler Houston. Imagine that. Ha.”

Her intense discomfort amused him apparently. Or something did. “Come on in. I don’t have to leave for your house for another fifteen minutes. The coffee’s still hot and I have a blueberry cake that should be finished.”

“Oh, you know…I just wanted to drop this off for Marjory.” She held out her ludicrously padded package, feeling a panicked need to run from this complete reconfiguration of her last twelve hours so she could think the new version through.

“It’s a painting. By Mr. Hous…uh, your great-uncle. I wanted Marjory to have it back.”

“Thanks.” He took the painting. “You don’t want to keep it? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh. Well.” She moved her hair back behind her shoulders, where it never wanted to stay, desperately trying to think of some reason not to keep the artwork other than loathing. “I’m just…I…Well, she should have it.”

He winked and she felt a little fizzy in response. “I didn’t like his work, either. But Aunt Marjory was proud of him. She’ll appreciate this, thank you.”

“My dad loved the painting. He hung it in his study, over his desk.”

“That’s nice to know.” His eyes warmed with sympathy and her fizz got fizzier. “I heard about your dad last year. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I miss him, but I’m glad he’s at peace now.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t figure out who you were. I assumed the house had been sold by now and that you were the new owner.”

“No. The old one.” She took a step back, frantic to escape. This was horrible. How did you have a polite catching-up conversation with someone as if you hadn’t seen him in years, when last night…

“Sure you won’t have coffee?”

“No. No. No, thanks.” She grimaced. Think she could say no a few more times?

“Okay.” His eyes cooled. “See you later.”

“Uh. I’m probably going to be out most of the day.”

“Right.” His lips scrunched into a line; he turned back into his house, lifting his hand. “Bye.”

Darcy nodded idiotically at the back of his head, then turned and fled up 64th Street, not feeling entitled to the shortcut anymore. She turned right on Clarke, south on 63rd, into her house and directly to her phone, desperately needing Molly.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“Hi, Molly. Um…I need to…Last night…”

“Uh-oh, crisis.” Molly sighed. “I had three already this morning. Can’t find favorite shirt, didn’t like breakfast, left shoes across the street at Ricky’s house.”

“Sorry, I know you’re swamped.”

“For you, I can handle it. Just don’t call me Mom or honey.”

“Deal.”

“So?”

Darcy wrinkled her nose and launched herself into furious back-and-forth pacing across the now-rugless hardwood floor in the living room. “Last night. You know that painter I told you about?”

“Uh-oh. You did it…or rather, you did him?”

“Yes.”

“And now begins the fallout. Won’t say I-told-you-so, but want to.”

“No, last night was fine. More than fine. Perfect. He was…”

She stopped pacing, unable to tell her best friend, whom she told absolutely everything, any details. “Well, it was perfect.”

“I’m getting the perfect part, but you’re not in crisis over that.”

“No. So. This morning, I go to Marjory Houston’s house to take back one of her husband’s paintings.”

“The hideous one from your dad’s study?”

“Yup. Only it’s not Marjory Houston at the house.”

“No, she’s at Royal Oaks.”

“Instead it’s…Well, it’s…”

“Tyler Houston lives there now.”

“Right. Him.”

“And?”

“Him, Molly. Him.”

Molly’s gasp came over the line loud and clear, followed by a giggle. “Oh. My. God. You seduced Tyler Houston?”

“Apparently.”

Molly of course only saw the humor in this disaster and helped herself to a good long belly laugh at Darcy’s expense.

“You didn’t recognize him?”

“Why would I? I only saw him a few times that I can remember, and that was over ten years ago. He’s at least five years older than me, and let’s face it, sort of invisible next to his brother.”

“But you can see him now, I take it.”

“He grew up.” She pictured him coming into her room naked except for the towel and then naked without the towel and couldn’t help a dreamy smile. If only he’d stayed Garrett. But even now, knowing he was Tyler didn’t change that last night was perfect.

“So what now? When are you going to see him next?”

“I’m not.” She started pacing again. “Obviously.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it was only an accident that he turned out to be a real person. While he was a fantasy, the entire experience was amazing.”

“Oh, give me a—”

“I’m serious.” She directed her pacing to the ugly brown couch by the front window and sprawled on it. “And I want more.”

“You just said you weren’t going to see him.”

“No. With someone else. A different fantasy. Last night was amazing, Molly. I felt so free and powerful. And sexy, like movie-star sexy. The most amazing high I’ve ever had. I want that again.”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

“No. I’m telling you, it was incredible.”

“Yeah, I hear heroin gives a pretty good high, too. Doesn’t make it a good idea.”

“Honestly.” Darcy gave a boring beige throw pillow a good solid punch. “Do all people start parenting everyone they know after they have kids?”

“Only when they need it.”

“Molly…”

“You know, the more I think about it, you and Tyler could make a really good couple. He’s smart, funny, really sharp. He’ll be teaching at UWM next fall. Bruce admires him, and you know Bruce, he doesn’t suffer fools.”

“I know that about Bruce.”

“So why not? Is he interested? I mean, obviously he was last night. What guy wouldn’t be with your, er, charming offer on the table. But this morning?”

Darcy scrunched up her mouth. He had looked at her sort of eagerly now that she thought about it. He had invited her in for coffee. Her insides started to warm and soften. His eyes were such a gorgeous color. Sometimes blue, sometimes green, often both. They made her—

Wait, what was she thinking? “Whether or not he’s interested is beside the point. I’m not interested.”

“Why not? He’s a hell of a catch.”

“I’m leaving town in a few weeks. Why would I want to start something? The only thing I have room for is fun.”

“Right.” Molly made a characteristic scoffing sound and Darcy could picture her disapproving face as if she was in the room next to her. “So. Then, uh, tell me, what’s your next big fun?”

“Well…” She tipped her head to one side, wondering why Molly had asked the question so oddly. Maybe because she didn’t really want to know? But Darcy did. What other fantasy could she fulfill? Another of her favorites popped into her head as if it had been waiting impatiently for its turn. “Next I’m going to dress in a sexy, black-leather-mini outfit, stiletto heels, killer makeup and strut into a bar baring my bad-assed attitude for all the world to see.”

Molly made a choking sound. “I need antacids just listening to this.”

“Aw, c’mon. Haven’t you always wanted to be a hot confident babe-ola just for a little while?”

“No, for God’s sake, and you know why? Because I have a brain, that’s why. Fantasies are called fantasies for a reason, and that reason is this. Because. They’re. Not. Real.”

Darcy frowned. Not that she expected sensible, practical, anti-glamour Molly, who met Bruce in high school and never looked back, to jump up and down at her idea, but she sounded stretched extra thin and had the day before, too. “Hey, girl. Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

“No. Nothing is bothering me.”

Darcy let the silence hang. “Moll…”

Molly sighed. “Bruce.”

“Bruce…what?”

“He’s…started going to some personal trainer.” Her sentence accelerated like a sports car. “So what, suddenly he hates the fact that he’s getting old and fat when he’s been a work in progress for years and years?”

“Bruce is working out?” She tried to picture beefy jolly Bruce breaking a sweat over anything but a Packers game on TV. “Bruce?”

“He met this woman through his work, selling her the usual physical therapy equipment. She offers to train him, which she does on the side. He accepts. She’s young, stunning, looks like Angelina Jolie. I haven’t seen her, this is his description. He talks about her all the time, how great she is, how strong she is, how smart she is…”

“Molly, you’ve been married eight happy years. Bruce is not going to cheat on you. He adores you. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It’s a fantasy, Darcy. Fantasies are powerful and they’re dangerous. I’m telling you this now, before you get hurt or hurt someone else.”

“This is an entirely different situation.”

“Right.”

Darcy drew down her brows and punched the couch again, torn between annoyance and sympathy. “I’m not out trying to tempt husbands. I just want to have some irresponsible self-indulgent fun for a change.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe I’m a little touchy on the subject.”

“I understand, I really do. And I would so not worry. Bruce looks at you like you could walk on Lake Michigan.”

“Thanks, Darce. I’ll try not to.” Molly took a deep breath.

“So…when are you going to do this hot-babe routine? What bar?”

Again the odd tone. Darcy frowned, not sure whether to call her on it or not, and decided not. “I hadn’t really thought that far in advance. But…let’s say Saturday. Starlight City. Ten o’clock.”

The second she set the date, place and time, everything felt right. She knew she was going to go through with it. She would put the post-fantasy awkwardness with Tyler behind her and march forward, guns blazing, use her newfound powers to reduce Milwaukee’s men to quivering mounds of needy testosterone.

“Blech. Starlight City? Total meat market.”

“Ya think?”

Molly groaned. “Just be careful. Use condoms. Take Mace and pepper spray and a whistle. Don’t take him to your house or go to his, find a motel, one of the cheap ones with thin walls so people can hear if you scream. And if you haven’t called by midnight Saturday, I’m calling 9-1-1.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Promise?”

She made sure Molly could hear her sigh of exasperation.

“Cross my heart and hope to get massively laid.”

“Ack! Dear God, I won’t live through this.”

Darcy giggled. “And, honey, really don’t worry about Bruce. He probably just got a wake-up call about his weight and possible health problems and is excited about taking care of himself.”

“I hope so, Darce.”

“I know so.”

She hung up the phone, allowed herself to be one hundred percent sure that Bruce would never cheat on Molly no matter how hot this personal trainer chick was, then grabbed her purse and headed for the garage. The painters would arrive soon, including tempting Tyler, and she was going to visit poor Marjory at Royal Oaks and then…

She had some über-hot black leather to buy.

4

TYLER RODE HIS BICYCLE to a stop outside his garage, swung off and punched in the code to open the door, which squeaked in protest, reminding him that he needed to get out here with some lubricant. He could use some for his legs, too, which were aching; ditto his back and arms. He’d painted windows all day in a state of apprehension, not sure whether he wanted to see Darcy or if he didn’t. She never showed, either through the window or outside, which effectively took care of that apprehension but not until the end of the day. By that time he was physically tired but emotionally wired. To exhaust himself further, he’d taken a punishing bike trip up the Little Menomonee River Parkway and back through the city. Barely able to walk now, he still wasn’t sure he’d be able to relax.

He didn’t like this. His relationship with Annie had been uncomplicated from beginning to end. He’d met her their junior year at Bowdoin College in Maine. They spent time together as friends and then become more. They’d shared a sense of humor, taste in movies, books, food, political views and basic values. In short, they fit together perfectly. Effortlessly.

While Darcy…

Why was he even comparing them? Annie had been his world for years—he’d been sure they’d last a lifetime. This woman he barely knew. And yet, when she’d shown up at his door this morning holding one of Derek Houston’s paintings, ludicrously overwrapped, he’d naively assumed she’d been craving him to the same degree he’d been craving her, that she’d gone to endless lengths to find out who he was, where he lived, and that she was about to say, “Darling, even one night without you was too long. Please hold me and never let go.”

Right.

Sadder, even after she’d made it clear she had no idea she’d find him at his own address, the hopeful idiocy hung on to him long enough to ask her in for coffee and cake. Hadn’t she made it obvious enough the night before that she’d had what she needed from him and thanks, buh-bye?

No, he had to slobber after a few more precious minutes of her time, to hear her voice, see her smile, stare into her eyes and realize what a complete sap he was.

If he needed further proof of her lack of interest than her rejection of his coffee, her notable absence at the house today was it. By being gone all day she’d avoided even having to walk past him among the other workers. So. Enough. Time to put Darcy to bed, figuratively speaking.

Seeing her this morning cleared up the final mystery of why he felt so strongly that he knew her, which he’d been all too ridiculously willing to chalk up to some nutball theory of subconscious love connection. Of course he thought he knew her. He did, though he could barely extract her from his memories. Another of the neighborhood girls hanging around, giggling and preening, hoping for a glimpse of Cam. His cousin Bruce had married her best friend Molly, whom Tyler remembered more vividly than Darcy for the somewhat embarrassing reason that Molly had been one of those girls who, er, matured early.

Teenage boys were so deep.

So much for love at first sight, little sister Katie. Or second sight. And it looked like he wouldn’t be given a third.

He parked his bike in its place next to the mower and slapped the garage door button as he stepped back onto the driveway, where he stretched carefully, not eager to start another day of painting sore and stiff.

That done, he let himself into the house, thinking a hot shower and a cold beer sounded better than just about anything—even another night with Darcy.

Okay. Forget that.

She was the first woman he’d been interested in since Annie had flattened him by refusing his marriage proposal. Obviously he was overromanticizing Darcy out of some vain hope he’d be able to avoid the scummy mess of the dating pool by falling back in love on his first try. Thank God she was blunt about her feelings—or lack thereof. He’d shower her off, too, then throw something together for dinner. Maybe a frittata—he had some leftover ratatouille that would be delicious in it, maybe with a few potato slices thrown in. Then he could sit back, relax and think about her. Or think about why he shouldn’t think about her. Or think about not thinking about her.

He was screwed. And not the way he wanted to be.

The shower was refreshing, the beer cold and satisfying, the frittata slightly overcooked, but good anyway. He cleaned up the kitchen and took a second beer and his cordless phone out onto the back patio, where he’d optimistically set one of his cedar outdoor chairs, though he’d wait to bring the rest up from the basement. With weather this warm, it was tempting to haul out the grill and plant his vegetable garden, too, but Milwaukee undoubtedly had a week or two of chill still planned before it allowed summer to land for real.

He set his phone on the arm of the chair and laughed in disgust at his foolish optimism. Hello, Tyler. She didn’t know the number. She wouldn’t call. She didn’t want to see him. Losing Annie must have made him cling like a burr to the first woman who caught his eye.

The phone rang. He blinked at it, adrenaline setting off a tornado in his stomach.

Darcy?

No, for God’s sake. He took another swig of beer before he picked it up, imagining her voice on the other end even as he told himself not to bother.

“How are you, my man?”

Tyler smiled. See? Not her. And he was completely fine with that. Really. “Hey, Bruce, how goes it?”

“Not too bad. Just back from my workout and cracking open a brew.”

“Back from your what?” He couldn’t have heard right.

“I’m a changed man. Lost ten pounds this month and going for forty more.”

“Forty! You’re kidding. I’ve only seen you exercise your beer muscle.”

“I know, I know.” He laughed the big Bruce laugh everyone knew him by. “I met this woman. Whoa, you should see her. Personal trainer. She says no pain no gain. I’m telling you, looking at her I don’t care what she makes me do. I feel no pain at all.”

“Um…well.” Tyler leaned back, slightly uncomfortable. Maybe when he was married he’d understand that the whole ogle-other-women thing was harmless, but this wasn’t like Bruce at all and he felt immediate loyalty to Molly. “Wow.”

“Get this. She’s not only a knockout, she’s got a degree in philosophy. Can you beat that? Brains, biceps and boobs. The holy trinity.”

Tyler winced. “That’s…great. So, uh, how’s Molly doing?”

“Fine, fine. Same as usual. She’s why I’m calling. She’s got this friend, uh…Darcy.”

Tyler narrowly avoided spilling beer down his shirt. He had no idea how to respond to that, so he said, “Ugnhya?”

“Yeah, uh, she and Darcy are really close. They tell each other pretty much…everything.”

Tyler sat up, then stood. “Everything.”

“Sorry, man. Look, I wouldn’t have called, but Moll said—”

Molly’s irritated voice interrupted him from the background. Tyler paced off the patio onto his yard and down to the back fence, then realized his back fence was also Darcy’s and beat a hasty retreat around to the front, not sure whether he was flattered or furious. Darcy had told Molly about their night together? Already? Had she discussed the size of his dick, too? He hadn’t thought he could feel stupider for thinking they’d shared something special, but apparently he could. He’d like to have a word or two with her about privacy and integrity and good taste.