Bad Boys Do

Whatever her intentions, it came as no surprise to her that when the phone rang, Olivia immediately thought of Jamie. More proof that she was already in over her head. She made herself walk slowly to the phone, then answered it without checking the ID, pretending she didn’t care who it was. “Olivia Bishop.”

“Oooolivia Bishop,” a friendly female voice crooned.

“Gwen?” she asked, just as she realized what was about to happen.

“So I talked to Marcie last night….”

“Oh, God.” Olivia put her hand to her eyes. Marcie was friends with one of Victor’s fellow professors.

“You naughty little witch,” Gwen drawled, obviously enjoying her secret. “You’re totally getting it on with Jamie Donovan. I don’t know whether to hate you or put you on a pedestal.”

“I am not getting it on with Jamie Donovan.”

“Liar.”

Olivia smiled as she shook her head. “I’m not lying.”

“Look, I admire that you’re trying to protect his modesty. It’s cute.”

“Gwen,” Olivia said, laughing. “Okay, I admit that I went to the party with him, but that is all that happened.”

“That’s all?” Gwen squealed. “Where the heck did this come from? You met him once. One time!”

“I know—”

“And you said you were trying to ease back into the dating world. This is like shooting yourself out of a cannon.”

Olivia collapsed onto her bed, laughing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.

“I need all the details,” Gwen said. “Please God, give me some details!”

“I’m sorry, Gwen, but I don’t have any!”

“Just any level of story then. Put me out of my misery.”

Olivia sighed. She wasn’t going to tell Gwen everything, but if she refused to speak it would look even worse. “Jamie asked me out, and I—”

“Now, hold on. Back it up, sister.”

This part wasn’t easy, and she wished she could get away with leaving it out entirely. Instead, she decided to fudge the details. “I saw him. On campus. He asked me out and I said no, but then I remembered the party….”

Gwen squealed.

“We went to the party, and that was it. End of story.”

“Oh, not by a long shot. What was he like? Did you make out? Did you see Victor? Oh, my God, please tell me you saw Victor.”

“Jamie was nice. No, we didn’t make out, but we definitely saw Victor. More importantly, Victor saw us.”

“Oh, my God, I wish you were here right now so I could high-five you.” Gwen had been an administrative assistant for Victor’s department for two years. She wasn’t a fan.

“I’ll admit, it was satisfying.”

“Oh, yeah? Just how satisfying?”

“Gwen. It didn’t happen. And it’s not going to happen. I had a great time, but that’s that.”

“He turned you down?”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Boy, I wish you were here right now too. I’d high-five your head.”

“Come on, Olivia. Why aren’t you going to see him again?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Well, it is. And I have to go. I’m late for my run.” Really late, actually. Not only had she overslept, but she hadn’t thought once about running until that moment. That was a first. She’d even gone for her run right on time the morning after she’d found out her husband was cheating.

“This isn’t the end of this!” Gwen called as Olivia’s thumb hovered over the end call button. “Not by far!”

Olivia stuck out her tongue and hung up.

As late as it was, she didn’t immediately rise to change into her running gear. For a moment, she simply sat and savored this feeling. This strange new feeling of having a close female friend. It was almost as exhilarating as kissing Jamie, though the happiness confined itself to less interesting parts of her body. It was really … nice. And Olivia felt stupid for having ignored this need for so long. She would’ve been happier married to Victor if she hadn’t dedicated herself so completely to him.

And maybe she would’ve seen the truth about him before she’d wasted so many years.

Regret tried to rear its ugly head, but she slapped it down. She’d spent a year wallowing, and she was done. This year was going to be hers. The year of Olivia. And this summer would be the kickoff.

She was teaching two classes this summer to bring in a little money, but both were light on prep and time commitment. She’d taught both before and they were non-credit classes. Even the group of students she’d agreed to mentor this summer were pretty self-sufficient, so aside from office hours and class time, she was free to do as she pleased. But what did she please?

As she brushed her teeth and pulled on shorts and a top, Olivia considered the day’s options. Class only lasted until two. Afterward, she could go through the unpacked boxes still lurking at the back of her bedroom closet. Or she could go through the financial planning package she’d been meaning to review. But neither of those sounded like the actions of a woman jumping into life. Neither sounded like a day for the kind of woman who’d take a younger man to a work party and then make out with him among the kitchen staff.

Smirking as she tied her shoes, Olivia made her decision. Today she’d drive to Denver. She’d have dinner downtown by herself. She’d have a glass of wine with her meal. Or two glasses. And then she’d go to the art museum and take as many hours as she wanted to stroll through the galleries.

In addition to being fun, irresponsible and exactly what she needed, this trip would distract her from thoughts of Jamie. She’d had a great time with him, but she hadn’t been fair. She’d used him, and he wasn’t going to call her again. That was fine. She had a whole life to build. And now that she knew she had chemistry … Well, that opened up a whole world of possibilities, didn’t it?

But four hours later, her little pep talk had worn off and she was standing in front of him in the classroom, feeling as awkward as she’d expected. Jamie just smiled down at her.

She gave him one subtle nod and then tried not to look at him again as she began her lecture on start-up costs, financing and insurance. Dry stuff, certainly, and it likely didn’t apply to his plans, but he seemed to be taking detailed notes, if his flying fingers were any guide. Or else he was deeply involved in an online conversation. Hard to tell these days.

By the time she’d taken the last questions from the class and sent the students on their way, she wasn’t the least bit surprised when Jamie started down the stairs instead of up. But her heart still tumbled as if she’d just received the shock of her life. Ridiculous.

He set an apple on the corner of the table. “Good afternoon, Ms. Bishop. You look pretty today.”

Her face felt tight with self-consciousness. She’d thought of him when she’d chosen this dress. It was red. Too red for class, but the tiny white daisies gave her the excuse that it was perfect for summer. And she loved the way the fabric gathered along the bodice to make it look as if she had nearly average-size breasts. The padded bra helped too, but Jamie would never get her clothes off to prove any different.

“Do you want to get some lunch?”

She looked up sharply, tearing her eyes away from his ridiculous little gift. “It’s two o’clock.”

“All right. Do you want to get some coffee? A beer? Ice cream?”

“It was wrong of me to drag you into that situation. I do thank you for going, and I appreciate your not holding it against me. But … this isn’t a good idea.”

“That sounds like an awfully solemn declaration over an innocent little ice cream cone.”

The man made “innocent little ice cream cone” into a filthy promise. His green eyes danced.

She wanted to shrink into herself, so Olivia set her shoulders back and made herself stand taller. But her gaze still fell to rest on the apple. “That’s because it doesn’t feel innocent. Not to me.”

He shifted and her eyes rose, and now his face didn’t look amused at all. “Doesn’t that make it important then?”

It did. Too important. But she’d be damned if she’d say that. “I’m not an eighteen-year-old girl out spreading her wings. I need to be reasonable.”

“I’d say you’ve got more than enough reasonable. You said you wanted to be fun.”

“I do, but—”

“Try it, then.” She had no idea how his gaze could get any warmer, but it did. “I can make anything fun, Olivia … even you.”

Excitement leapt through her. She should’ve felt insulted, but she only felt the anticipation. The possibility. “You’re just a kid. You don’t understand—”

“I’m nothing like a kid,” he said, his voice suddenly low and quiet. And she knew he was right. She knew it. But there was something so bright and pure about him. Something that said he still enjoyed being in the world, unlike the rest of the miserable population just making their way through. That was what drew women like moths. It was certainly drawing her.

Olivia crossed her arms and looked to the side, sweeping her gaze over the empty chairs, the dark carpet, the sickly gray of the walls that glowed under fluorescent lights. This place was the biggest part of her life and the thing was … she’d never even wanted it. How sad was that?

“Coffee,” she said.

He raised one eyebrow. “Coffee? All right. Coffee’s pretty fun, but …”

“Just coffee. I have plans later.”

He conceded with a gracious wink. He didn’t even complain when she told him she’d meet him at the café. In fact, his smile implied that he knew exactly why she’d said it. Not because she was going to drive straight to the Denver art museum afterward, but because she was afraid of what would happen if he drove her home again.

In the end, she had a surprisingly nice time. Jamie was easier to talk to than she’d expected. Oh, sure, talking to strangers was part of his job, but when they dared to step into political waters, he was thoughtful and informed. And he made her laugh. They sat on a shady patio. Olivia had a skinny latte. Jamie had an iced caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream.

When he walked her to her car, she felt as nervous as a teenage girl. With good reason, because when she opened her car door, she was caught between the door frame and the car, and Jamie leaned close.

“Can I call you?” he asked.

“Jamie …” She couldn’t keep this up, but she couldn’t resist forever.

“Just say yes,” he whispered. And then he kissed her, and her mouth was too busy to say anything at all.

HE’D LEFT HER WITH A KISS. One damn kiss and nothing more. But even that made him smile. He’d never tell Olivia this in a million years, but dating her definitely felt more … grown-up than he was used to. Less like a hookup and more like time with an interesting woman. Not that he wouldn’t hook the hell out of her given the opportunity. That one kiss had left him hard as a rock. Granted, it had been a long, deep, wet kiss.

“Hell, yeah,” he murmured as he pulled into the brewery parking lot. He walked around the whole building before going in, to be sure all the doors and windows were secure and the sidewalks were clean, but when he walked through the front door, he was still lost in thoughts of Olivia.

“Where the hell have you been?” his brother, Eric, asked before Jamie’s foot was even across the threshold.

All the pleasant warmth suffusing Jamie’s muscles snapped to ice. “I told you I’d be in later on Thursdays from now on.”

“You said you’d be in at four. It’s almost 4:30.”

Jamie felt his blood swell. Heat rose to his skin. He wanted to snap back. He wanted to yell that he’d put in sixty-two hours last week and he’d fucking come in thirty minutes late if he felt like it. There wasn’t even one customer in the front room, for God’s sake.

But he couldn’t say that, because the last thing he wanted was for Eric to start asking questions about where Jamie had been, or why he’d suddenly decided to take Tuesdays off instead of Mondays, or why he needed to come in late on Thursdays. So Jamie used all his strength to hold those words in and simply muttered, “Sorry.”

Eric looked surprised. Maybe he’d been angling for a fight. But he gave in gracefully and said, “All right. Sorry I snapped at you.”

Was it really that easy? They fought like cats and dogs most of the time, which was why Jamie was keeping his ideas secret until he had them fully fleshed out. If he didn’t have everything in perfect order, Eric would shoot the plan down before the first words left Jamie’s mouth. In fact, he’d already shot this particular plan down once, but Jamie wasn’t giving up.

“Anything going on today?” he asked Eric.

“Wallace finally got in that Mexican chocolate he was waiting for. He’s going to try another round of the spicy chocolate stout.”

“Great.”

“He wants to call it Devil’s Cock.”

Jamie’s eyebrows flew up. “Devil’s Cock?”

“Yeah. With a rooster on the label.”

“And what did you say to that?”

Eric smirked. “I told him I’d think about it. After that Santa Fe show, I decided we could dare a bit more edginess. There’s not a lot of subtlety out there right now.”

“Well, consider me surprised. I think it could be a fantastic label. Maybe you could have it mocked up before you decide.”

“Huh. That’s actually a good idea. Maybe I will.”

Jamie ground his teeth at the shock in Eric’s voice.

“And the new menus are in.” Eric handed him a pristine laminated copy of the midsummer bar menu.

“Wow, this is a nice layout.”

“The new marketing company,” Eric said. “I guess it’s working out.”

“Where’s Tessa?” Jamie asked. His sister was a much more relaxed presence and Jamie would rather get his daily update from her, but she was off today, it seemed. That explained Eric’s mood. Tessa simultaneously calmed her brothers down and cheered them up.

“So.” Jamie checked the time. “Are you clocking out soon?”

Apparently, he was less than subtle. Eric actually threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll leave you alone. Chester prepped the bar. It’s all ready for you. Knock yourself out.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and Tessa said something about a special.”

Jamie groaned as Eric brushed past him. “Wait, what kind of special?”

His brother’s laughter was the only answer. It faded as he walked into the back and the doors swung closed behind him.

“Jesus.” Now Jamie was the one muttering. As much as he loved Tessa, she was driving him crazy with her Twitter mischief. She was in charge of social networking for the brewery. Unfortunately, Jamie knew nothing about the internet beyond Google and email. Even more unfortunately, Tessa used Twitter under Jamie’s name, and she enjoyed putting him in awkward positions. Two weeks ago, she’d organized a “Where’s Jamie?” campaign, wherein customers took a picture with him whenever they spotted him. That had been fine at the brewery, though it had slowed down his service. It had been less comfortable when he’d been at the grocery store or out for a bike ride.

He’d tried to go with the flow, but now he was feeling paranoid. He stuck his head in back. “Chester!”

he called to the part-time bartender. “Can you check Twitter on your phone? When you’re finished with the washer, see what Tessa is up to tonight.”

“Got it!” Chester called.

Jamie hurried back to ready the front room before the post-workday rush. Sure, Chester had already prepped, but no one else had quite the standards that Jamie did. He started with the tables so they’d be ready for the customers. He wiped down the tabletops, the chair seats and backs, and even the menus. He swept the whole room, then moved to the bar itself to get it ready.

“Hey,” Chester finally popped in to say. “Tessa offered half-price pints from five to six for anyone who tells you a joke. Doesn’t have to be funny.”

Jamie smiled as he polished the bar to a shine. He could handle a few jokes. Or so he thought. By six o’clock, his throat hurt from laughing. It also hurt from groaning in horror. He hadn’t thought so many bad jokes existed in the world, much less that he could hear them all in one hour. But he had to give it to Tessa, it had been a pretty great hour. He blazed through the whole evening in a good mood until he finally started shutting down at 8:45. At nine o’clock, he saw the last customer out with a friendly wave, locked the door and immediately pulled out his phone to call Olivia.

“Hello, Ms. Bishop.”

“Jamie?” She sounded sleepy. And soft.

“I’m sorry, were you sleeping?” He glanced at the clock in confusion. Did people go to sleep at nine?

“No, not yet. I’m reading in bed.”

“I was hoping you might come over for a game of pool.”

“Right now?” She laughed as if he were being outrageous.

“Maybe?”

“I’m already in bed in my pajamas!”

“Oh, yeah?” He dropped into a chair and propped his feet on a table. “What kind of pajamas?” She laughed again as if he were joking. Fine. Jamie decided to imagine her in a little silk button-down shirt and her black glasses. Hot.

“How was your night?” she asked.

“Well, you made me late.”

“You made yourself late.”

“No,” he corrected, “that hand up my shirt was definitely yours.” Jamie decided right then and there that he’d never get tired of hearing her laugh. He especially liked the crack in her voice when she got embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. I’m not normally so forward. Especially not in the parking lot of a coffee place.”

“You were overcome,” he said. “It happens to all of us. I promise not to report you to the dean.”

“Stop!” Her laughter was getting sleepier.

“What are you reading?” he asked, trying to keep her on the phone. She named a book he’d never heard of. Something that sounded dire and difficult. “My mom used to read a lot. She didn’t really pass that love on to me,” he admitted.

“Used to? She passed away?”

“She did. A long time ago.” Jamie didn’t like to talk about it. He really didn’t like to talk about. So he kept his mouth shut and made it clear that he had nothing more to say. Olivia didn’t take the hint.

“How long ago?”

“Thirteen years.”

“Oh, my God. You were just a teenager.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and tried to tell himself to be glad she hadn’t asked about his dad, because then he’d have to give the whole tragic story. Leaving out the details of his own involvement.

“Were you close to her?” she asked quietly.

“I was.” They’d all been close back then. His siblings and his mom and dad. He and his brother and sister were each distinct personalities, but they’d all been loved equally. It turned out that Jamie had been the one who didn’t deserve it. Big shock.

“I’m not close to my mom,” Olivia admitted. He heard the click of a light on her end and imagined her settling more deeply into bed. “She’s cold. Exacting. And … no fun.”

He smiled at the wry irony in her voice. “You’re not cold,” he said.

“No?”

“No. You’re lying in bed in your very short pajamas, having an inappropriate conversation with one of your students, right?”

Her laughter chased his sadness away. “You don’t know anything about my pajamas.”

“Shh.”

“And there’s nothing inappropriate about this conversation.”

“There could be,” he insisted, “if you stopped trying to correct me.”

“Jamie …” She sighed. “You’re … really amazing. You know that?”

“I love it when you whisper that in bed.” But her voice was getting quieter, so Jamie gallantly offered to let her go. He thought of his schedule tomorrow and winced. He had a full day in the office plus the bar at night, and on Fridays they were open until ten. Thank God it was only a tasting room, and not a regular bar open until the wee hours. “If you can stay up an hour later, I’ll tuck you in tomorrow, too.”

“I’d like that,” she whispered, and Jamie could practically feel her fingers drag down his neck.

“I’d like that, too.” What a strange affair this was. No sex. Plenty of pillow talk. And damned if he didn’t love it.

CHAPTER SIX

“WHY AREN’T YOU RETURNING my texts?”

Olivia couldn’t believe she’d answered the phone. She’d avoided talking to Victor all week, but getting out of the shower, she hadn’t been able to see the phone display, and now here she was with his disapproval in her ear.

“Victor, one of the reasons I divorced you was so I wouldn’t have to return your texts or phone calls or emails unless I wanted to. And I don’t.”

“Come on, O. What’s gotten into you lately?”

She wrapped her towel tighter around her. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re acting strange.”

Strange. Like dating-a-younger-man strange. For three nights in a row, Jamie had talked her to sleep. She could no longer deny, even to herself, that she was getting involved with him. Talking to a man for hours while in bed was apparently an effective tool for breaking down resistance.

“Olivia?” Victor’s voice sang with irritation.

“Yes?”

“Who was that guy?”

Well, the curiosity must have been eating him alive if he’d just blurted it out like that. Victor normally liked to weave in and out of difficult topics until she was too confused to remember her point. Olivia smiled. “What guy?”

“Damn it. If you want to play games—”

“Victor,” she interrupted. “I’m not playing any games. My life has nothing to do with you now. Everything’s final. It’s done. Utterly and completely over.”

“That’s not true. We’re still friends.”

“We most certainly are not! Where do you get this stuff?”

“O, just listen—”

“No. I have to go. We’ll talk another time. Or not. It really doesn’t matter. Goodbye.”

For the first time in months, she wasn’t the least bit stressed after a phone call with Victor. She simply, honestly, didn’t care. She had other things to worry about. Bigger things, hopefully.

Jamie had invited her to his place for brunch. Brunch, the most innocent-sounding of all the meals, but surely this brunch was just code for sex. They could just as easily go out to brunch, after all, but she was going to his place, alone, for an intimate meal.

She was terrified, yet one hundred percent ready. At least in theory.

Something had changed for her in the past few days. Dating Jamie was still dangerous and irresponsible and it would never lead anywhere. But screw it. She’d only been divorced for a year. Now was not the time for a long-term relationship. Now was the time for a sizzling-hot affair with a younger man who made her toes curl with the just the sound of his voice.

She’d been up for hours already, thinking about it. With Jamie’s job, he wasn’t exactly a morning person. He’d invited her over at noon, explaining that it would have to be brunch because breakfast was the only meal he could cook well. She’d occupied herself with running and showering and drying her hair. But now she was faced with the impossible task of picking an outfit. Standing in her closet, she stared helplessly at her clothes.

She would know what to wear if they were going out. A cute sleeveless dress, no question about it. But what if he lived in a dorm-style dump? What if he had a roommate?

Brunch sounded a little elegant, but was it possible that he considered breakfast foods to be nothing more than Toaster Strudels and Slim Jims? She imagined herself sitting at a tiny table in a dress, eating powdered donuts out of a box.

“No,” she scolded herself. He was twenty-nine, not nineteen. He had a real apartment with a real table and maybe even a stove he knew how to use. So she picked out a pretty yellow dress and laid it out on the bed, then turned to her dresser to face the more difficult task of choosing undergarments.

Boy, she was regretting that generously padded bra now. False advertising and potential daylight nudity did not mix. She looked down at the towel that lay flat against her chest, then back to the drawer full of pretty, delicate, unnecessary bras. Then Olivia sat down hard on her bed and faced a problem she’d been ignoring. A problem she’d tried hard to forget.