Taking the Heat

“Really? I can’t tell how it’s going when I’m up there. It feels like my brain shuts down and my mouth is working on its own.”

“No, your brain is definitely working. Everything you say is really damn smart.”

She blushed again, and Gabe liked that. A lot. That she blushed over sex talk and then blushed when he called her smart. She was...intriguing. And nothing like the first impression he’d had of her.

“You look like you got some sun today,” she said.

“It was my day off. I finally got a chance to do some climbing.”

She sat back in her chair. “Rock climbing? That’s crazy.”

“It’s not crazy,” he said, the same answer he’d given to a hundred other people. It was the most typical reaction. “It’s fun. You should try it.”

“Oh, sure. I’ve got the perfect body type.” She flexed her right arm and pointed at it. “Check out these guns.”

“You don’t need much upper-body strength for the beginning climbs. It’s all in the legs.”

“Are you saying you’re not impressed with my guns?” she asked, flexing again.

“I’m saying your legs look strong.”

“Oh.” Cheeks going pink again, she looked down at her legs. Her hands settled on her thighs as if to cover them, but then her fingers spread.

Gabe watched, wondering what her skin felt like. Warm, probably. Soft. Nice.

“Thank you,” she said. “If that’s a compliment.”

“It’s definitely a compliment.”

“Are you flirting with me?” she asked, then immediately shook her head. “I’m sorry. I always ask weird questions like that. It’s a problem.”

“How is it a problem?”

“Well, it’s a little awkward, isn’t it? That’s my flirting technique. Complete awkwardness. Look, it’s happening right now. Are you entranced?”

“I kind of am,” he said, smiling at her until she smiled back. “If awkwardness is your flirting technique, then you’re clearly into me right now.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Clearly. But isn’t everyone into you?”

He was the one who drew back this time. “What?”

She watched him as she sipped from her drink, her eyes still sparkling with laughter. Her gaze dipped down his body when she set her glass on the table. “Come on. Look at you. You’re so damn hot.”

“I am?” he asked, feeling his own cheeks get warm.

“Yes, with your little beard and your shoulders and all this.” She waved her hand up and down, while Gabe touched his beard in confusion. “Never mind,” Veronica said. “I’m drunk. Ignore me.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t—” But before he could finish his sentence, she downed the rest of the drink.

“No, I hardly ever get drunk. I want to get drunk. I want to have fun for once.”

“You look like you’ve had plenty of fun in your life.”

“Ha! You’re wrong about that.”

“Come on. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself after all the excitement of the big city. But you can have fun here, too.”

“Oh, sure,” she huffed out on a laugh.

He bristled a little, used to hearing this kind of shit from his oldest friends. “It’s not New York, but it’s a good place. Aren’t you having fun right now?”

She nodded and leaned closer. Gabe tried very hard not to glance down her dress to the slight rise of her breasts, if only because her gaze was locked on his face. “Gabe MacKenzie,” she said in a loud whisper, “you’re beautiful.”

He’d been flattered by her attention, but with those words he realized she was just very, very drunk. Her bright smile was gorgeous, but her eyes had gotten a little hazy. “Okay,” he said, “you’re cut off. And I think I’d better walk you home.”

She rolled her eyes. “I lived in Brooklyn. I can handle myself in Wyoming. And walking won’t be a problem. I’ve got the legs of a Russian weight lifter.” She slapped her bare thighs.

“That is not what I said.”

“What did you say?” she teased.

“I said they were strong. Muscled. You look like you run or bike or—”

Her groan cut him off as she dropped her head to her hands. “I was going for cute tonight. Just cute. Why can’t I even pull that off?”

“Are you kidding? You’re just fishing for compliments now. You’re really cute. The definition of cute. But your legs...your legs are sexy.”

She raised her head, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Making fun? You really aren’t very good at this flirting thing, are you?”

“No. But a guy in New York once called me corn-fed, then acted like it was a compliment.”

“I’m not a guy in New York.”

“You used to be!” she said, poking him in the chest as though she’d caught him in a lie.

“Okay, but I never felt at home there. I’m a country boy at heart. New York is just...where I was born.” Not quite true, but that was what it felt like. A place his family lived. A place he loved from afar and visited occasionally.

Gabe caught sight of the waitress approaching with another drink for Veronica and he shook his head. The woman shrugged and headed back toward the bar.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica said. “You called my legs sexy and I made it weird.” She snagged his beer before he could grab it. “This is why I don’t date. Look at me.”

She got one swig before Gabe took it back and finished it off. “Come on, Dear Veronica, let’s go.”

Even though she collapsed onto the table with laughter, she eventually nodded. “Okay. Let’s go to my place.”

“I didn’t mean...”

“Yeah, believe me, I know.” Veronica pushed to her feet. “See? Steady as a tree.”

In fact, she was swaying a little. If she was a tree, she was more a willow than an oak. “How many of these did you have?” he asked.

“One before the show. One during. Then...two more?”

“In the space of an hour?” Gabe reevaluated his options. “How far away do you live?”

“Only three blocks away. I’m centrally located.” That set off a bout of giggling that had Gabe smiling as he wrapped her arm around his.

“Are you okay in those heels?”

“Sure. I had to learn to walk in them in New York. You know how it is. Spike heels everywhere. I bet you loved that, didn’t you? Men love that.”

He looked down at her as he opened the door of the bar. She was smiling as she stepped into the night.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” he finally said.

“Just be honest. I write an advice column. I know what guys like. You can’t scare me.”

“Okay, then. Women’s legs look amazing in heels. Your legs look amazing in heels. But nothing beats the sight of a woman in hiking boots on the trail ahead. I could watch that for hours.”

“And have?”

“Only with permission, of course.”

She bumped him with her shoulder as they walked. “Does that mean you’re an ass man, Gabe MacKenzie?”

“I—” he ran through all the possible responses in his head and decided discretion was the better part of ass valor “—am not going to answer that.”

“You can tell me. Feel free to spill all your kinks. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve heard.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t.” He looked around. “Are we even walking in the right direction? Where do you live?”

“Oh, shit,” she muttered, then spun him around. “It’s this way. I’m sorry. I haven’t been this tipsy in a really long time.”

He thought she was way past tipsy, but damned if it wasn’t adorable on her. “So how does one become a professional advice columnist?”

“Overbearing father,” she muttered, then shook her head. “I was a copy editor, but I also helped out with an advice column at the Village Voice. Screening letters, proofing the column, that sort of thing. When I told my dad I was moving back to Jackson, I suppose he wanted to help. He’s friends with the owner of the Jackson paper, and Dad inflated my experience a little. So here I am. A fraud who gives advice.”

“Well, you’re great at it, so how could you be a fraud?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Does someone else write the column for you?”

She laughed, bumping into him again, her thigh rubbing against his and reminding him of how naked her legs were. “No,” she said. “I write it all by myself. That I can do, at least.”

“Which was your favorite column to write?”

“Hmm.” They stepped from the sidewalk to the boardwalk and Veronica seemed to get distracted by the sound of her heels on the wooden boards for a moment. Then she shook her head and looked up again. “Last year a mother wrote in to slut-shame the woman her adult son was dating. She said that this harlot was luring her son with free sex.”

“Oh, God,” Gabe groaned. “Poor guy.”

“I know. We can only guess at how much he was suffering. Anyway, I answered that letter, telling her that if she was disappointed in the behavior, then maybe she hadn’t raised her son very well. I also said there was nothing wrong with sex and to leave the girl alone. Pretty standard stuff. Except that I became friends with the harlot later.”

“Ha! Seriously?”

“It’s a small town. These things happen. I probably know the guy who fell in love with his sex doll, too, but please don’t tell me if it’s you.”

“I’d rather not talk about it, anyway,” Gabe said. “It’s over.”

“Oh, no! Did it fizzle out?”

He shrugged. “We tried to patch it up a couple of times.”

She tugged him to a stop, then leaned against a street lamp, wheezing with laughter.

He grinned as she wiped tears from her cheeks. “You okay?”

She shook her head, still struggling for air past her hysterical laughter.

“Was it that funny, or is it just the alcohol?”

“Both!” she gasped. Then groaned, “God, I must be a mess.”

He looked over her tearstained face and the mascara smudges beneath her eyes. “Nah. You look great.”

“Really?” She swiped at her pink nose.

“Really. Now, where are we going?”

“Right here,” she said, gesturing toward a three-story condo complex.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her off the lamppost to walk her toward the entry. “I only live one block over.”

“I’m not surprised. There are a lot of rentals around here.” She dug her keys from her bag and led the way to one of the ground-floor doors.

“I won’t come in,” he said for clarity’s sake. Even if he might have wanted to, she was way too drunk for him to feel right about it.

She stabbed her keys toward the doorknob several times. “Don’t worry. I didn’t think you wanted to.”

“Okay, because I— What? Why would you think that?”

She waved her free hand and the keys jagged two inches to the right. “I’m not that girl. I get it.”

“What girl?”

“You know.” She finally got the key into the hole, and when the lock turned, she gave a little cheer. She pushed the door open and then lurched in before spinning back to him. “I’m not going to try to jump your gorgeous bones, Gabe. You’re safe with me. I’m sexual kryptonite.”

“What?” he asked again, even more confused.

She reached down to pull one of her high-heeled boots off, but the other ankle wobbled dangerously.

He jumped forward to grab her elbow so she could pull off the boot without falling. She smiled up at him and took off the other boot. He was surprised by how much shorter she was without them. He could now see straight down her dress. The view was lovely and so was her lacy black bra. He stepped back quickly.

She stared up at him. “It’s true,” she whispered.

“What’s true?” he asked.

She watched him for a long moment, then leaned a little closer. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he said, not sure what he was hoping to hear her say. Whatever he’d expected, her next words were not it.

“All that advice I give? All of the wise insights on love and sex that I helpfully hand out to strangers?” Her voice was getting softer.

Gabe put his hands on her shoulders. He wanted to lean down and kiss her. Her mouth looked so plump and her eyes so happy. But he couldn’t. Not tonight. “Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, using his hands to hold her steady instead of pulling her close.

“That’s the biggest lie of all, Gabe. I’ve never even done it.”

“Done what?” he asked, distracted by the pretty way her neck arched so she could watch him.

She moved even closer, going up on tiptoe to bring her mouth toward his neck. “Fucking,” she whispered.

For a moment, his brain stuttered over the provocative word, guessing that she was trying to turn him on. Not that he’d act on it tonight, but it was a nice problem to have. Then the rest of the conversation caught up and overrode his libido.

He stood straight. His hands gripped her shoulders with more strength. “You what?”

Instead of reacting with the seriousness he thought the moment deserved, Veronica burst into laughter. “You should see your face!” she chortled, pointing at his face in case he’d forgotten where he’d left it. “Oh, my God, you’re so cute!”

“You were kidding,” he sighed, feeling a relief he didn’t understand.

“Oh, I wasn’t kidding. But it’s still funny.”

He blinked several times. “You’re a virgin?”

“Pretty much,” she said, her face suddenly getting serious.

“What does that mean? Can you even be pretty much a virgin?”

“I mean, I’ve done things. On occasion. But I’ve never really done things. Do you get it now? Look at me! I’m a fraud, Gabe. An undesirable, freakish fraud!”

He stared down at one of the most adorable women he’d ever met and wondered if someone had slipped a psychotropic drug into his last beer. “You’re...” He couldn’t think what to say. Oh, my God, you’re a virgin! Or... I don’t know what you’re talking about—you’re totally fuckable! His mind spun. He stayed silent.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have told you. You just have such a nice face. And everything else.”

“Thank you,” he said carefully.

“Maybe you’d like to help with my problem?” He wasn’t sure what she meant until she waggled her eyebrows.

“You mean...with the...?” He pointedly dropped his gaze to a lower point on her body, then realized it was an extremely creepy gesture and snapped his eyes back to her face.

She nodded solemnly. “Yes. With that.” She pointed at the spot he’d just eyed. When he didn’t respond, her nodding slowed, then stopped entirely before she changed it to a negative shake. “No. Right? It’s a no?”

“I don’t... Veronica, I don’t know what to say. You’re really drunk. We shouldn’t even be talking about this.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to let people see the real me.”

He swallowed hard, wishing he had another beer to wet his dry mouth. Or maybe something with caffeine instead of alcohol so he could navigate this minefield more deftly.

“You’re so cute,” she said mournfully, reaching up to slowly pat his cheek. Her fingers lingered, stroking down his beard. “Huh. It’s soft.”

“Thank you?” he ventured.

She looked so startlingly pretty when she grinned at him that Gabe finally snapped out of his shock and stood straight. “Okay. That’s it. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Yay!” she cheered, pumping her fists in triumph.

“Just you,” he clarified. “Not me. You need to sleep this off. This might be a little more of the real you than you meant to reveal.”

“The real me!” Veronica squealed, giggling as he retrieved the keys she’d left in the lock. “Look at her! She’s horrifying!” He set the keys on the table closest to her and closed the door.

“She’s not horrifying. She’s just being a little more candid than she’d like if she were sober.” Gabe gestured toward the open door of her bedroom.

Her hip hit the table when she turned, but she bounced off it and moved toward her bedroom. Gabe let his hands hover near her shoulders in case she started to lean. Once they reached her bedroom, he grabbed the blankets and pulled them back so she could just fall in. She tipped helpfully onto the mattress, then twisted around to look up at him.

“Are you sure you won’t stay?” she asked with the sweetest smile.

“Something tells me you’re not quite lucid,” he said as he took the purse she’d snuggled up to and put it on her nightstand. He snapped the covers over her before he could let himself notice that her dress had ridden up to expose more of those soft thighs now. Soft, until she shifted and tension added muscle definition. “So...” he said, forcing his thoughts off her legs, “I’m going to get you a big glass of water, and then I’ll leave.”

“That makes me sad.” Her bottom lip curved into a luscious little pout that made him want to taste her. “I want you to stay.”

“We can talk when you’re sober.”

“Promise?”

When he nodded, her pout turned to a smile. But then the smile wavered. Her eyes glistened.

“Are you okay?” he asked in alarm.

“Yes. You’re just so nice, Gabe.” She sniffled and a tear escaped. Then another. “And so hot. Just so, so hot.”

His laugh was half horror and half amusement. He handed her a tissue, then escaped to the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Here,” he said when he returned. “I think you’d better drink some of this. Can you sit up?”

She gave him a thumbs-up but didn’t move.

“Come on,” he said, carefully sliding his hand behind her neck to help her raise herself up. She cooperated with another smile that was ruined by her having to sniff back tears several times, but then she dutifully drank a third of the glass while he watched.

He pulled the covers up again when she lay down, then backed away. “Need an alarm?” he asked. It was only ten, but she might sleep for quite a while.

“Nope. I work from home.”

He smiled at her fit of giggles, then raised his hand. “Good night, Dear Veronica. It was a hell of a show.”

She aimed a finger pistol at him and winked as she pulled the trigger. “Thanks, Gabe. Don’t forget your promise.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I won’t forget if you don’t.” He had a very strong feeling that she wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. And an even stronger feeling that she’d be sorry if she did.

He turned off her lights and locked the thumb lock on her front door before he stepped outside, grateful that he had time alone to process what she’d said to him. Still, he was smiling as he hit the sidewalk and headed for his own place a block away. No, Veronica Chandler was nothing like he’d thought she’d be. And he was kind of...thrilled.

CHAPTER FIVE

VERONICA KNEW SHE was hungover before she even opened her eyes, but opening her eyes confirmed the state. Even the weak dawn light filtering past her blinds made her groan in pain. She’d had a hangover only twice before, but there was no mistaking the symptoms. Fuzzy tongue, queasy stomach, pounding headache.

Keeping her eyes closed, she sat slowly up and swung her feet over the bed. The room spun a little, but her stomach didn’t protest too much, thank God. In fact, a glass of cold milk sounded like something she’d pay a million dollars for. Promising herself a reward of returning to bed in just a few minutes, she pushed to her feet and shuffled to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the lights.

After the bathroom, she headed slowly to the fridge, hissing in pain like a vampire when the fridge light burned her retinas. She squeezed her eyes shut and managed to find the milk and get the door closed without having to brave the light again. She gulped down half a glass of milk, popped some ibuprofen and trudged back to her room.

She sank into her mattress with a sigh. “I should take off this dress,” she muttered to no one, but it seemed like a Herculean task. She pulled the covers over her head and slept.

The next time she woke up, the room was much brighter, but her headache was gone. Her body still ached, and her stomach felt hollow, but that was the worst of it. She was bone-dry, though, and when she saw the water on her bedside table, she sat up and gulped the rest of it down.

“God, I’m an idiot,” she moaned. She couldn’t remember how many martinis she’d had, but there’d been at least two before the show, and two was really her limit. She remembered the nice waitress and she remembered sitting with Gabe, and then... Then she’d obviously stumbled home and fallen into bed without even taking off her dress.

Looking down at herself, she winced. There were deep creases all over the pretty blue knit. She’d have to hand wash it and hope it recovered.

Veronica climbed from bed and struggled out of her dress and bra, then dug out yoga pants and a big T-shirt. This time, when she got to the bathroom, she turned on the light and regretted it immediately. Not because of her hangover, but because of what she saw in the mirror.

“Oh, holy mother of God,” she wheezed, staring wide-eyed at the hot mess that looked back at her. Her hair stood up in crazed tufts, as if she’d twisted her head into her pillow for half the night. Her skin was sallow and sickly looking, as befitted a woman with a hell of a hangover. But worst of all were her eyes, which were bloodshot and ringed with layers of purple and gray and black makeup that looked like a bruised rainbow.

Veronica dove for her bathroom drawer and frantically pulled out her makeup wipes. It took five minutes to get the eye makeup off, but the slight purplish tinge beneath her eyes wouldn’t budge. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Her skin felt invigorated, at least, though after all the scrubbing, she now looked as if she had pinkeye.

“Never again,” she promised herself. “No martinis next week.”

She was craving a hot breakfast, but no way was she leaving her house to grab anything. Even a hoodie and big sunglasses couldn’t cure her self-consciousness, so she ventured into her kitchen to see what she had. The inside of her fridge didn’t present the best options, but she did find cheese and some egg substitute. A bad omelet, then.

She set her finds on the counter, closed the fridge, then turned to flip the light switch, wincing instinctively at the shock of brightness.

But it was fine. She was fine. Because she’d been smart enough to get up and take ibuprofen hours before. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe she could handle a party lifestyle, after all.

She turned back to face the fridge, paused to feel her heart skip in her chest and then she screamed.

The white notebook paper stood out against the black door. Hand pressed to her mouth in horror, Veronica backed up until her ass hit the other counter. “No,” she whispered against her fingers. “No, no, no, no, no.”

#1—Let people see the real you.

“No!” she yelled at the paper.

Those bold black words were all it took for the whole evening to rush back at her. The way she’d flirted with Gabe, the way she’d told him she was flirting with him, the drunk, stumbling walk back to her apartment and then...

“Noooo,” she moaned, pressing her hand hard to her mouth as if she could somehow stop the words that had passed her lips the night before.

She’d told him her deepest secret. Confessed what no one could ever know. And then she’d asked if he’d help her take care of it.

Her stomach, which had felt merely hollow before, now churned with acid and sickness. It rose up and pushed at her throat. Veronica shook her head. She pressed her whole hand to her mouth, but there was no defeating it. She gave in and rushed to the bathroom.

She didn’t feel any better after she was sick. She only felt more pitiful, more wrung out. She’d told Gabe MacKenzie, the new hot guy in town, that she had no experience with fucking. And then she’d practically begged him to apply his penis to her charitable enterprise.

He’d somehow managed to resist her siren song, even after she’d started crying.

Oh, my God, she’d started crying while she asked him to come to bed with her.

He hadn’t come to bed. Thank God. What if he’d stayed? What if he’d spent the night and then woken up to find her goggling at him with her zombie raccoon eyes just before she vomited all over his naked body?