Rosalie walked into the terminal.
Motor City, here I come.
Chapter Ten.
Nick sat in the Mustang and watched Rosalie disappear into the terminal. Rosalie wasn't well enough to travel, but he couldn't tell her that. She'd been waiting to hear him say that-and one word from him was all it would take for her to end whatever it was they had. Not that she wanted to, which was why she hadn't planned to say good-bye before she left.
If Nick could kick his own ass around a city block, he would. He'd seen the exhaustion on her face; not that anyone else would notice it. She looked every bit the hot New York executive. Her head was held high, her chin raised in defiance of the world, and her long-legged stride ate up distance and walked over anyone in her way. The crease of her pants was sharp enough to cut, and her four-inch designer heels doubled as weapons. He tried to remember if the women in Michigan wore sexy pantsuits like hers. Not that it mattered. He had a feeling wherever Rosalie went west of New Jersey, she'd stick out like a sore thumb. She might as well have had Made in New York Made in New York stamped on her forehead. It wasn't that she looked typical-she didn't. But she had that attitude Nick found only in New Yorkers. stamped on her forehead. It wasn't that she looked typical-she didn't. But she had that attitude Nick found only in New Yorkers.
The woman he watched walk away was quite a switch from the makeup free, sweatshirt and flannel pant-clad Islanders fanatic with whom he'd spent the weekend fighting over the remote and eating in bed.
Nick tried not to think about the fact that he was the reason Rosalie was leaving and having dinner with some college buddy named Leisure. The only female buddies Nick had in college were bed buddies-again, not something he wanted to contemplate. Damn.
He shook his head, put the car in gear, and headed back to Brooklyn feeling way too somber. But what did he expect? He had been looking forward to a night of slow, explosive lovemaking, not a run in the park with Dave.
Nick let himself into the apartment and tossed his keys on the table. Dave sauntered out of the bedroom and eyed him warily. The poor guy must still be wondering when he was going to jail. Nick followed Dave back to the bedroom, lugging the bag he'd packed when he'd stopped to pick up his mail. Dave resumed hiding under the bed.
"Come on out, Dave, you're going to hang with the big boys this week. Relax, I'm not taking you to jail." Nick kicked off his shoes and made room in the dresser for his things. He wondered if his clothes would end up smelling like Rosalie. She kept sachets in her underwear drawer, and their scent permeated the room. Everything smelled like Trouble. Trouble. He didn't think it mattered what his boxers smelled like, so he neatly folded her undies and tucked his boxers in next to them. Too bad checking out her underwear didn't hold the same appeal without her in it. At least he'd been dead-on when he guessed her size. What could he say? It was a gift. He didn't think it mattered what his boxers smelled like, so he neatly folded her undies and tucked his boxers in next to them. Too bad checking out her underwear didn't hold the same appeal without her in it. At least he'd been dead-on when he guessed her size. What could he say? It was a gift.
Nick finished unpacking and thought a run might bring him out of his foul mood, so he changed into sweats and running shoes.
"Come on, Dave. Let's go for a run. You need the exercise, if you're going to keep sneaking lasagna."
Dave was not a runner. Nick took it slow, but after only about a mile, Dave planted his ass and refused to move in any direction except toward home. Nick tugged on his collar, even tried cajoling him. Dave lay down and played dead until Nick bribed him with a foot-long from a street vendor to get him moving again. Dave walked all the way home with a limp. How he'd managed to make it look as if all four legs were in pain was a true Oscar-worthy performance.
Nick couldn't wait to tell Rosalie about their quasi-run. Well, all except for the part about the hot dog. She'd have a cow about Nick feeding Dave meat, so he'd leave that factoid out.
By the time they got home, Nick calculated Rosalie was checking into her hotel. Which hotel, he wasn't sure, and not knowing wasn't helping his mood. He'd run all the way to the apartment to check on her. He'd been worried sick, only to be smacked upside the head with proof of how little she cared. He should have at least rated a good-bye in person-not over the phone from the airport.
The words sounded familiar. He recalled his old girlfriend, Tonya, saying something similar when he'd had Lois call and cancel their date due to an unexpected trip. She'd said he'd hurt her. Damn, now he felt like a real schmuck about that. But he wasn't hurt-he was mad.
Nick showered with his cell phone within reach. The one that didn't ring. He ate leftover pad thai, minus every shrimp-Rosalie had been excavating again. She'd have made a great anthropologist.
The landline rang. As was his habit, Nick let the machine answer. When they heard Rosalie's voice, he and Dave ran to the phone. Dave almost knocked him over in his excitement, though Nick suspected the near tumble could well have been a payback for the run.
"Hi, sweetie! How are you?"
Nick picked up the handset. "Hi."
"Nick?"
"Yeah, who were you expecting?"
"Why did you pick up?"
"You called."
"I was calling for Dave."
"You called to talk to the dog?"
"I always do. He likes it."
"I can see that. I thought you were calling to talk to me."
"I never call you "sweetie." What made you think I called for you?"
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because most people don't telephone dogs."
"Well, I do. It keeps him from walking around the apartment with my clothes."
Nick let that one go. There were some things better left unknown.
"How are you feeling?"
Rosalie groaned. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day when I missed a guy asking me 'what are you wearing,' but it sure beats the dreaded 'how are you feeling' question."
"Okay, what are you wearing?"
"Never mind. I'm feeling fine. Do you have a pen? I'll give you my cell number."
"You have a cell phone?" Well, of course she did. Now he remembered hearing her purse ring right before her sister had called.
"Doesn't everyone?"
Nick wrote down the number and bit his tongue to keep from asking why she hadn't given it to him a week ago.
"When are you coming home?"
"I don't know. I don't know what I'm dealing with yet. I'll call you."
"Get some rest. You sound tired."
"I know, I know, drink fluids, take my medicine, eat well. Did I forget anything?"
"Yeah, you did."
"What?"
"Tonight, when you're sleepy..." "Yeah?"
"And you're lying in that big, cold hotel bed all alone..."
He heard her breath catch. "Uh huh..." came out as half word, half moan.
He took a deep breath and tried to sound normal, even bored. "Sleep well."
"Nick!"
"'Bye, Lee, I'll talk to you tomorrow." He disconnected the call and found a morose Dave watching. The reason it was called a hangdog expression was brought into crystal clarity. Nick knew how the dog felt.
"Look on the bright side, big guy. At least you're not in a kennel." Try as he might, Nick failed to see the bright side of his own situation.
Dave limped into the bedroom, lumbered onto the bed, and fell into a run-induced coma. So much for dogs being good company. Nick wandered around the apartment and, after about an hour, realized what was wrong. He was lonely.
Rosalie rolled over again and looked at the clock. It was only eight-thirty, and she'd been lying down for two hours. What a complete waste of time. How was she supposed to nap after what Nick had done to her? All he had to do was talk to her in that come-to-papa voice, and she turned to unset Jell-O.
Sitting up, she ordered room service. She wasn't hungry, but she needed to take her medicine. In her head, she heard Nick bugging her about the importance of taking medicine on a full stomach.
Oh, God, when had his voice replaced her mother's as her inner nag?
The phone rang, and she stared at it. It had to be either Nick or Gina. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk to either of them, but she knew wondering who had called would drive her crazy. She might as well answer the damn phone.
"Hello."
"Well, ain't that a fine how-do-you-do?"
"Gina? Why are you talking like a yokel?"
"I thought it might take some getting used to. I'm trying to help you out.
"You know, just because Michigan is west of the Hudson doesn't mean it's full of country bumpkins.
"Honey, as far as I'm concerned, there are three cities: New York, Chicago, and LA. If you're not from one of the above, you're a bumpkin."
"Thanks for the lesson. Now, have you called for a reason?"
"Several."
There was a knock on the door. "Hold on, I think my food's here."
"Okay, answer it, but look through the peephole first. They do have peepholes in Michigan, don't they?"
"No, Gina, Home Depot only sells doors with peepholes in New York, Chicago, and LA. They don't have mad rapists anywhere else."
"Funny, very funny."
She answered the door and let the kid set the room service tray on the table. After tipping him, she followed him to the door and locked up tight.
"I'm back."
"What'd you order? Something expensive, I hope. Lord knows, they owe you for making you fly all the way out there to clean up this mess. Oh, and it is a mess."
"I gathered. I ordered a steak. I couldn't remember if Michigan was famous for steak or if that was Kansas. Geography was never my strong suit."
"Don't ask me. If it isn't in one of the six boroughs, I don't know much about it. Sure, I'd like to go to Hawaii, the Bahamas, maybe Guadalupe, but aside from that, the only place I want to be is New York."
"Gina, there are only five boroughs-"
"You forgot Florida. You've heard of the South Bronx; Florida is the South Manhattan. Don't you know anything?"
Rosalie cut into the perfect steak-so rare, you could save it with sutures-and took a bite, nearly groaning in ecstasy. She'd never known how good it could feel to be able to taste food again. A trickle of blood dripped onto her chin, and she laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"Oh nothing. You know how I like my steak rare-" "Uh huh."
"Well, Nick would be calling me Vampira right about now. He says I'm the only person alive that likes steak more rare than he does. One night he was cooking and, well, we got distracted. We forgot about the steak until it was well-done."
"Eeww."
"I know. As far as I'm concerned, the term "well-done" is an oxymoron. Nick ended up boiling some pasta and making this amazing clam sauce. Dave ate the steak. Thank God, Dave wasn't picky."
"Listen to you. You miss him."
"I do not. I miss Dave, not Nick. Though it does feel strange being alone. Nick barely left me all week, and when he did, he seemed to have this innate ability to come back just as I was waking up. Hell, every time I awakened, he was there with liquids, food, or drugs- sometimes all three. It was amazing, really. He only got on my nerves when he shoved medicine down my throat. But then, that had more to do with the medication than with him."
"Oh, yeah, I can see you don't miss him at all." "He's nice... and a really good sport. He didn't even mind when I called him Nurse Ratched. He gave me one of his don't-mess-with-me looks, but he wasn't very convincing."
"Sounds like a real prince."
"I admit, he's special. He'd have to be to like Dave- either that or crazy. It was cute, the way he got so perturbed over the thought of Dave in a kennel. As if I would put my baby anywhere but the Ritz Carlton of kennels. I doubt they offer daily massages in Sing Sing."
"I thought you were going to call him from the airport so he wouldn't give you a hard time about traveling."
"Yeah, that was the plan, but I called to cancel the doctor's appointment-"
"Oh, you had another appointment with that Barbie clone?"
"No. Nick made me see his friend, Mike. He's a pul-monologist." "A what?"
"A lung doctor. And Mike called Nick, and Nick came running over like-"
"Like he cares about you?"
"No, he was more concerned about Dave going to a kennel than he was about me flying to Michigan."
"Somebody sounds jealous," she said in the singsong tone third graders use.
"Gina, is there something you need to tell me, or did you call to get on my nerves?"
"I emailed you the report I put together from the trash I got from Randi with an 'I,' Lassiter's assistant. After one look, you'll see why the Board of Directors hired us. Talk about a sloppy job. Giving you a hard time is just a bonus."