Xena. Must get home to Xena.
I don’t answer him until I’m dressed. Then I smooth out my skirt and look at him. “Are we doing this? We’re not dating, but we keep accidentally-on-purpose boinking? What happens when I start dating the janitor?”
“You want to date the janitor?” His eyes blaze with fury. “I knew it!” He reaches for his night table, where his phone lies next to the charger. Then he snatches his hand back. Was he actually going to call up and fire the guy?
I burst into laughter. “No, he’s like seventy years old! I was just giving you a hard time. But you’re jealous. Admit it. What are we even doing?”
“We’re dating. You and me. In an exclusive fashion. I will put you in my schedule, every single freaking day.”
My heart leaps in my chest and does a goofy little happy-dance. Blake Hudson is my boyfriend. Me. Blake. Together. The things that happened last night, that made my lady bits sing the hallelujah chorus, will keep happening. Blake and Winona, sitting in a tree…
And not just that. I just love hanging out with him. I love the two of us. We spark off each other perfectly. I feel like I could maybe be good for him, making him take some time to enjoy life and be less scary to his employees.
I am not going to freak out and go all crazy-crush-girl on him. At least not right here. When I get home, after I walk Xena, I plan to jump up and down and squee until my throat is raw. But right here, in front of Blake, I am cool, calm, confident, not-Weird Winona. “It doesn’t have to be every day. You need to do what you need to do.”
“We’ll go on dates every week, we’ll eat midnight sundaes any time you want, and I will be a good boyfriend.” His mouth curls up in a slow, sensual grin. “I will be a very good boyfriend. And by the way, I’ve always wanted to hire an all-female cleaning staff.”
“You are not firing the janitor, you lunatic. Leave Peter alone!”
“Oh, so you’re on a first-name basis with him now.” He pouts. “Who’s his favorite baseball team? What does he eat for breakfast? What color boxers does he wear? You’d better not know the answer to that last one.”
“For the love of God. What have I gotten myself into?” But I smile as I go to kiss my boyfriend goodbye. And I smile even harder as he pulls me back into bed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Blake
I can’t believe I fell back asleep after Winona left, but I’m not going to kick my own ass about it either. I haven’t taken half a day off just to relax since…ever. Normally I rush to the shower the moment my eyes open, anxious to start checking off my to-do list, but today I hold off. I’m drenched in the scent of our lovemaking, and I want to luxuriate in it for a little while longer. I even hold up my arm to my nose and sniff myself.
Love makes you weird.
Did I just think the L-word? Even though it was just in my head, it scares me a little. But not that much, now that I think about it. Because that’s where this is going, isn’t it? I think about her constantly. And it’s not just me picturing her naked – or in her nerdy pajamas. Although that happens a lot.
I think about the warmth of her smile and the music of her laugh. When I’m about to snap at one of my employees, I imagine how Winona would look at me if she were in the room, and I maybe tone it down a little bit, and damned if the people who work directly under me aren’t actually smiling more.
With a sigh, I sit up and head for the kitchen.
As I walk down the hall, past the Grecian columns topped with Ming vases, I can’t help but wince. Seeing it the way Winona must have, I can imagine it feels like moving through a museum. Like there should be velvet ropes strung in front of the furniture. I could bring in some decorators, modernize the areas I spend the most time in, move the first-floor furniture upstairs to the rooms I haven’t set foot in for years.
Thinking about it, I move through the house with a strange and wonderful feeling of lightness.
I’m infatuated, enchanted, and I’m enjoying every second of it. This is like a drug without the nasty side effects, and I’m going to mainline it on a regular basis, the hell with the consequences.
Alice is right. Winona is right. I’m not living my life. I don’t even know if I enjoy what I’m doing at Hudson’s any more.
I think I do? I love planning and strategizing. I love marketing. I love the feeling of accomplishment I get when I’ve launched a successful new campaign – but it never ends. I don’t know who or what I am without my planner talking to my watch and phone, telling me when to eat, breathe, and have a bowel movement. What would it feel like to go on an actual vacation – with Winona? To try to remember what I like to do when I’m not consumed with work?
After the Popup Palooza, and after the board votes for us to go public, I will find a way to delegate more. I’ll carve out at least one whole day a week for Winona, and I’ll make time at the end of every work day for her, too.
The cook doesn’t work on Sundays, so I pad into the kitchen barefoot and start a pot of coffee. My wrist feels weird; I left my wristwatch on my nightstand. The sharp white of my wrist mocks me, reminding me how that stripe of skin never sees the sun. I’m way too dependent on that thing. I frown, trying to remember if I plugged my phone into the charger last night.
Nope. Nope. I’m going to cling to my happiness a little while longer. Leaning on the counter, I inhale the bitter, invigorating scent of brewing beans.
And the ghost of my past whispers in the back of my mind.
This kind of happiness isn’t meant for you. Your drive is what makes you who you are. What are you, without that? You’ve got promises to keep. Promises you made by your father’s graveside.
I’m too relaxed. It isn’t my natural state. Change is hard.
To banish the harsh whispers, I summon up an image of Winona and me from last night. Not the glorious, fireworks-and-supernovas explosions of ecstasy. Instead, I close my eyes and focus on the calm that came afterwards. In my mind’s eye, she’s lying in my arms, drifting off to sleep, her eyes closed and her full mouth curled up in a smile. I’m stroking her hair, the ruby strands slipping through my fingers.
The tension in my gut unknots.
Take that, self-doubt. I just Winona’d your ass. Come at me any time you want, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.
As I stir milk into my coffee, the house phone rings. It’s Alice. I answer it with a grin and switch on the video monitor.
She’s sitting on her patio, framed by palm trees, the ocean a rippled sheet of turquoise behind her. “How are you doing, little baby brother?”
“Fine, thanks, Nagatronic 2000. Where are the paintings of Dad and Granddad?”
She shakes her head slowly from side to side. “I will take the secret to my grave.”
“That’s a little dramatic. You’ve been on another film noir kick, I take it?” I yawn loudly before I can stop myself.
“Good God, Blake, it’s almost noon.” Noon? Wow. I haven’t let myself sleep in like that in…God knows. She skewers me with a suspicious gaze. “Were you torturing your minions into the wee hours?”
“I wasn’t,” I say smugly. “I went to a twenty-four-hour ice cream sundae shop in Soho last night.” And followed that up with the best sex of my entire life – but I’m sure as hell not going to tell my sister that.