into bed. To get it over with, she said, “I admit it. I was going to break off with Nick, and he beat me to the punch.”
“He’s a wreck,” Janet informed her. “Paul says he’s never seen Nick so low.”
Vanessa took a certain satisfaction in knowing she wasn’t the only one suffering. She lifted her wineglass to her mouth and sipped the chablis before answering, “He’ll get over it, and so will I.”
“I don’t understand this,” Janet pressed. “You fell in love with Nick the first night you met him—I know because I was there and I saw it happen. And now you’re just going to walk away without looking back?”
“I’m not going to crawl to him,” Vanessa said firmly. “I still think he used me to get back at Parker and I despise him for it.”
“You don’t know Nick very well.” Janet sighed, sounding resigned at last. “He’d never do a thing like that. He’s too open, and he hates games and little intrigues.”
“He also hates me,” Vanessa said, remembering the look in his eyes when he’d told her goodbye. “Let’s drop the subject, please, because if we don’t, I’m going to fall apart right here.”
Janet must have believed her because she didn’t mention Nick’s name again. The two women finished their drinks and parted, vowing to meet for lunch before the holidays got into full swing and there was no time.
It was four-thirty when Vanessa got home—too early to go to bed and hide from her depression. She changed into jeans and a Seahawks T-shirt, fed Sari and proceeded to the living room, which was still choked with Parker’s flowers.
She dropped one fading bouquet after another into a large plastic garbage bag and carried it out to the curb, where Rodney had already set the trash for morning pickup. She was stuffingthe bag into one of the plastic cans when an ice-blue Corvette slipped sleekly into her driveway and Nick got out.
He looked as bad as she felt.
“Hi,” he said, rounding the car to stand beside Vanessa and effectively block any retreat to the house.
Even though she’d rehearsed this moment through a thousand varying versions, she wasn’t prepared to face Nick. She averted her eyes and said nothing at all.
Nick sighed, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him wedge his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans. “Damn it, Van, will you at least listen to me? I’m willing to admit I was wrong—I should have told you about Parker and Jenna.”
“Why didn’t you?” Vanessa asked, raising wary, pain-filled eyes to his face.
His formidable shoulders moved in a shrug. “It was water under the bridge to me. I didn’t think it mattered.”
Vanessa bit her lower lip. “You don’t want to be involved with a woman who doesn’t trust you—remember?”
Nick swore under his breath. “And you still don’t, right?”
Vanessa sighed. “When you’ve been married to a man like Parker, it doesn’t come easy.”
“Speak of the devil,” Nick marveled as a cab swept up to the curb and Parker got out.
He probably wouldn’t have been so brave if he hadn’t had another man with him. “That’s the idea, Van,” her ex-husband said, smiling as he approached, “Toss DeAngelo out with the trash and get on with your life.”
Parker’s friend, a yuppie-type wearing a three-piece suit, looked at him as though he’d gone mad.
Nick favored Parker with a slow, leisurely grin. “Keep talking,” he said. “Right now I’d like nothing better than stuffing you into one of these cans and stomping you down like a milk carton.”
Parker paled a little beneath his health-club tan, but he recovered his aplomb quickly enough. “Vanessa,” he said, evidently choosing to pretend that Nick wasn’t there, “this is Harold Barker. You’re getting a second chance, baby.”
Vanessa folded her arms, unconsciously protecting herself. “At what?” she asked in suspicious tones.
Parker looked enormously pleased with himself as he explained that Harold was
“He’s a wreck,” Janet informed her. “Paul says he’s never seen Nick so low.”
Vanessa took a certain satisfaction in knowing she wasn’t the only one suffering. She lifted her wineglass to her mouth and sipped the chablis before answering, “He’ll get over it, and so will I.”
“I don’t understand this,” Janet pressed. “You fell in love with Nick the first night you met him—I know because I was there and I saw it happen. And now you’re just going to walk away without looking back?”
“I’m not going to crawl to him,” Vanessa said firmly. “I still think he used me to get back at Parker and I despise him for it.”
“You don’t know Nick very well.” Janet sighed, sounding resigned at last. “He’d never do a thing like that. He’s too open, and he hates games and little intrigues.”
“He also hates me,” Vanessa said, remembering the look in his eyes when he’d told her goodbye. “Let’s drop the subject, please, because if we don’t, I’m going to fall apart right here.”
Janet must have believed her because she didn’t mention Nick’s name again. The two women finished their drinks and parted, vowing to meet for lunch before the holidays got into full swing and there was no time.
It was four-thirty when Vanessa got home—too early to go to bed and hide from her depression. She changed into jeans and a Seahawks T-shirt, fed Sari and proceeded to the living room, which was still choked with Parker’s flowers.
She dropped one fading bouquet after another into a large plastic garbage bag and carried it out to the curb, where Rodney had already set the trash for morning pickup. She was stuffingthe bag into one of the plastic cans when an ice-blue Corvette slipped sleekly into her driveway and Nick got out.
He looked as bad as she felt.
“Hi,” he said, rounding the car to stand beside Vanessa and effectively block any retreat to the house.
Even though she’d rehearsed this moment through a thousand varying versions, she wasn’t prepared to face Nick. She averted her eyes and said nothing at all.
Nick sighed, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him wedge his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans. “Damn it, Van, will you at least listen to me? I’m willing to admit I was wrong—I should have told you about Parker and Jenna.”
“Why didn’t you?” Vanessa asked, raising wary, pain-filled eyes to his face.
His formidable shoulders moved in a shrug. “It was water under the bridge to me. I didn’t think it mattered.”
Vanessa bit her lower lip. “You don’t want to be involved with a woman who doesn’t trust you—remember?”
Nick swore under his breath. “And you still don’t, right?”
Vanessa sighed. “When you’ve been married to a man like Parker, it doesn’t come easy.”
“Speak of the devil,” Nick marveled as a cab swept up to the curb and Parker got out.
He probably wouldn’t have been so brave if he hadn’t had another man with him. “That’s the idea, Van,” her ex-husband said, smiling as he approached, “Toss DeAngelo out with the trash and get on with your life.”
Parker’s friend, a yuppie-type wearing a three-piece suit, looked at him as though he’d gone mad.
Nick favored Parker with a slow, leisurely grin. “Keep talking,” he said. “Right now I’d like nothing better than stuffing you into one of these cans and stomping you down like a milk carton.”
Parker paled a little beneath his health-club tan, but he recovered his aplomb quickly enough. “Vanessa,” he said, evidently choosing to pretend that Nick wasn’t there, “this is Harold Barker. You’re getting a second chance, baby.”
Vanessa folded her arms, unconsciously protecting herself. “At what?” she asked in suspicious tones.
Parker looked enormously pleased with himself as he explained that Harold was
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