Part 22 (1/2)
At some level he was even willing to admit it. But not enough to pick up the phone and ask for what he really wanted. Because it wasn't just about s.e.x with Nicky. That was the problem. And no way did he want to think about moving toward the next step. The thought of permanence made his blood run cold.
There was no way Nicky was going to make any calls. Even though she'd already given her vibrator a workout, twice. It was just one of those phone calls you couldn't make.
Not unless she felt like being shot down at two in the morning.
Thirty.
T he next day started out semi-normal .
If you consider two people without sleep capable of functioning in anything resembling a normal fas.h.i.+on.
Nicky was in the office before anyone else. It beat staring at the wall.
Johnny greeted his daughter and Vernie, bleary-eyed and unshaven, nursing an espresso at the breakfast table.
”You must have worked all night,” Vernie remarked, giving him the once-over as she sat down opposite him.
”Sort of.” No way was he going to tell the truth.
”Can I have pancakes, Maria?” Jordi called out.
”Me, too,” Johnny added. He was craving carbs, which he never did. Getting up to run his third espresso, he wondered how he was going to get through the day. All he thought about was f.u.c.king- one particular woman with the sweetest c.u.n.t and the warmest smile and a body that made a man happy to be a man. He was definitely going off the deep end because nothing deterred him from thinking the same thoughts, seeing the same images in his mind, wanting the same thing. It was as though he was tripping.
And he hadn't done that for a decade or more.
Buddy took one look at Nicky when he walked into the office and said, ”Tough trip, hey?”
”Not really. I just couldn't sleep last night thinking about work.” Lies, lies.
”Go back home and sleep for a while. We don't have to see the Thompsons until eleven. And for that one, you'd better be on your toes. The wife has a f.u.c.king clipboard.”
Nicky grimaced. ”Rich wives have too much time on their hands.”
”Tell me about it. That's all I see. Junior Martha Stewarts, with att.i.tude. But I mean it. You look like h.e.l.l. I'm not leaving until tomorrow. Go home and sleep.”
”I would if I could, okay? I t' s not going to happen.”
”Get a ma.s.sage at Josie's. You'll look more rested.”
”Since when do you care if I looked rested or not?”
”I never had to before.”
”You're just going to have to put up with what you see,” Nicky muttered, knowing d.a.m.ned well she wouldn't be able to sleep, no matter what.
”Suit yourself. It's your company.”
”Thank you,” she tardy said.
”Oooo, b.i.t.c.hy.” Buddy grinned. ”Here's where I could say something chauvinistic, if you know what I mean.”
Nicky snorted. ”Men have such a simple way of looking at life.”
”It might help.”
”Could we change the subject? Before I fire you for s.e.xual hara.s.sment.”
”Gotcha. Subject closed.” Not that Buddy was worried about being fired, but Nicky looked fretful, and he didn't want to make her life any more difficult. They got along. They spoke their minds, but they both knew when to pull back. And this was one of those times. ”So what's first on the agenda?”
”The Thompsons and whatever else you have scheduled. And we should check out Jordi Patrick's, too.” Not that she wanted to, but she couldn't be a wuss.
”We're stalled there right now. The lumber we need for the decks is on back order. So that one can wait.”
There was a G.o.d! She could feel her entire body relax. ”Okay, then,” she said, brightly. ”That one's on hold for the time being.”
Pancakes didn't help, a fourth cup of espresso didn't help, even being left alone after Vernie and Jordi went shopping only made him more restless. Christ, he felt like he'd taken a dose of Spanish fly. His mind was relentlessly one-track, focused on a single thought. He was going crazy.
He even thought of calling some of the women he knew and inviting them over to be his s.e.x surrogates for the woman he really wanted. But he couldn't even bring himself to call. He didn't want some other woman. He wanted her.
He was screwed.
But there was no way he was going to enter into a relations.h.i.+p.
No way, no how.
Especially after knowing Nicky for less time than it takes a banana to ripen.
Christ, this craving was lunatic.
Get a grip.
Part of the reason he'd attained his success was due to his practical, hardworking, no illusions att.i.tude. Those traits sustained him now in his hour of need, and forcing himself back into the studio, he sat down and got to work.
Funny how in the best of all possible worlds, work is both a pa.s.sion and an avocation. With the sun s.h.i.+ning into his studio, reminding him of new beginnings and better times, before long, he was lost in the music he loved.
Nicky also found herself thoroughly occupied that day- overseeing the thousand and one details integral to an architectural firm with eight projects under construction. She and Buddy surveyed two partially finished tree houses before meeting the Thompsons at eleven.
The interview didn't start out well, when Mrs. Thompson said, ”I don't usually like to work with women, but you come highly recommended. I prefer working with men. They're more detail-oriented, and I'm a detail person.”
Detail this. Nicky felt like saying, ”I don't usually work with jerks.” But she held her tongue and managed to say instead, ”Why don't we see how things go? You don't have to make up your mind today.”
Luckily, Buddy was smooth as silk during the interview, because short of sleep and already on the defensive, Nicky found it difficult not to snap off the officious Mrs. Thompson's head on about ten occasions. The lady with the clipboard felt that she knew more about designing tree houses than Nicky, and she didn't mind saying so.
”You were good, boss,” Buddy said afterward in the car. ”I could see the steam coming out of your ears, but you didn't blow up.”
”Nerves of steel and the obvious fact that Mr. Thompson is going to be the one maki ng th e decisions. If we had to deal exclusively with his wife, I would have turned down the job.”