Her Something Impetuous Read online

He cocked his head. “I’d like to kiss you goodnight.”

  “You haven't earned that.” But she stepped closer and lifted her mouth. Just one more, she thought. To keep the evening from being a total loss.

  He stopped, pulling his head back. “You’re committed to that no-kicking decision, right?”

  For tonight.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Karen woke the next morning to the sound of the phone ringing. Her first thought was that it might be Pam, finally calling from college. But she should have known better. It was just Terri.

  “So you are alive,” Terri said.

  Karen groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Basically.” Then she remembered Cait. “Crap! What time is it?”

  “Almost eight. Did I wake you?”

  “I have to get Cait. I’ll call you when I get back!” She hung up and dialed Michael’s new number. “Tell Cait I’m on my way.”

  “Denise has already taken Cait to school.” Disapproval dripped from his voice. “It’s not as if she could wait until noon. And don’t worry about picking her up this afternoon. Denise is taking her shopping after school.”

  “Oh, you – you…” Karen couldn’t think of anything bad enough to call him. Besides, guilt at oversleeping gnawed at her. So she hung up.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her reflection in the dresser mirror. She felt like she’d been out all night. She didn’t look so hot, either.

  She’d left Cait hanging. This morning her daughter would go to school and tell all the kids about how her mother practically had her arrested the night before. And about how this morning she’d overslept and forgotten about her. What a great mom she was turning out to be.

  Was she a cliché? Here she was, pushing forty, divorced – or as good as – and she’d gone out last night to get a tattoo. She’d ended up making out with a guy she’d just met. If she wasn’t a cliché, she was a pathetic joke.

  And yet…she had made out with a guy she’d just met. Not just any guy. A hot guy. A nice guy. Well, aside from the whole issue of him using her to get at Michael. That boinking thing.

  Had she had a hot date? Or had she just made a fool of herself?

  She slid off the bed and poked at the bags under her eyes. The fact that she couldn’t tell the difference wasn’t a good sign. In all probability, she’d made a complete ass of herself.

  But speaking of asses, Will had been impressed by hers. At least he’d said he was. Did she believe him? And what if she did? It seemed like a bad way to get started on her new empowered-single-woman life, worrying about what some guy thought about her ass.

  But she decided that, privately at least, it was okay if she developed a little crush on Will. He didn’t have to know about it; she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him or anyone else. Obviously, nothing was going to develop between them. They were different as they could possibly be. He could never be seriously interested in someone like her, anyway. It was fun, having someone to fantasize about. Having something in this new life that was hers and hers alone. Someone who was impressed by her ass.

  She turned her back to the mirror and checked out her rear end. It wasn’t bad. Definitely better than this time last year, before the twenty pounds she’d lost. This butt wasn’t going to stop any traffic, but it wasn’t bad. For someone pushing forty.

  Damn Valerie Bertinelli and her kind anyway. Used to be a woman could get away with letting things slide a little once she reached a certain age. But not anymore. Maybe she ought to take advantage of the free morning and start working out again. With all the divorce junk, she’d stopped about three months ago. But cliché, joke or dynamic woman entering an exciting new phase in her life, having a tighter butt couldn't hurt anything.

  She brushed her teeth, pulled her hair into a ponytail and dug out her exercise clothes. Downstairs she rooted around and dug under the couch until she found her old Shake Weight. Terri had given it to her as a gag gift, because they’d laughed so hard at the commercials. The model demonstrating the device – uncomfortably bringing to mind phallic images to “tighten, tone and strengthen your upper body” looked for all the world like she was jacking someone off. With a dazzling smile on her face, of course. Karen was not going to tell Terri that she’d actually used the thing.

  She tuned the television to the YouTube channel and searched for Shake Weight training video. She found one video featuring another female model who, Karen would guess, had a BMI of about 12. Karen could see the woman’s tendons flex as she pumped the weight.

  It made her feel entirely too old and fat. The way the back of her arms jiggled made her want to crawl out of her own skin, and the instructor’s ropiness made her want to throw the thing through the television. She clicked on another video from the sidebar, this one featuring two muscle-bound men. “Better,” she said. Looking at two handsome men would make the workout much more enjoyable.

  Except it was just nasty, too. She felt like she was watching the beginning of a gay porn movie. “Now shake it, shake it, shake it,” the instructor guy said. “Oh yeah,” the guy with the weight said, his pecs vibrating as he pumped away. “I’m feeling that.”

  With an exasperated sigh, she clicked the video off and turned to face the other direction.

  She would just do this in silence. It was, in fact, much better. The weight shook in front of her and she was beginning to feel a distinct burn in her arms. The oscilatting movement was, in fact, kind of hypnotic. She brought the weight closer to her face, somewhat fascinated by the motion.

  This was kind of Zen, she thought as she shook. Tuning out all distractions. Totally focused on the moment. A sort of meditation. She brought the weight closer still to her face, feeling the tension in the back of her arms.

  Bam! The weight hit her nose.

  “Oh! God!” She dropped the weight to the floor and grabbed her face. “Damn it!”

  Her hand came away with blood on it.

  “Oh God,” she said. “I've broken by ode dose!?!”

  She stood, then had to grip the sofa and wait till the black spots faded before she shuffled to the downstairs bathroom to survey the damage. A thick line of blood trailed from her nose to her chin. She sniffed, and the movement hurt. She wiggled her nose slightly, and that hurt more. She decided not to do that again.

  She leaned forward and looked closely at her nose. She didn't think it was broken, because it was still straight. And her pores didn't look so hot up close, either, so she wet a washcloth, turned out the light and left the room.

  She popped a couple of ibuprofen tables and poured herself a bowl of Apple Jacks. The phone rang and she checked the Caller ID while she munched. Midge. She wasn’t ready to deal with sweet, anal-retentive Midge yet this morning. She slurped her milk as Midge reminded her the apricots needed to be soaked in brandy for at least twenty-four hours before she baked them into the Hallelujah muffins, and that she’d be by Karen’s house before ten o’clock Saturday morning so she could pick up the muffins and get them all ready for the auction on Sunday afternoon. “Have a wonderful day, Karen, and call me if you need anything at all.”

  Karen hit the button to erase Midge’s message. “I can handle the precious muffins, Midge,” she said solemnly. She placed her hand over her heart. “I will not let you down.”

  She rinsed her bowl and put it in the dishwasher, checking the clock on the microwave. It was time to get ready for work.

  One of the reasons she liked her job was that she never had to put on panty hose and heels. Sure, she had to deal with the occasional biting schnauzer, but staying comfortable all day more than made up for that. She usually wore jeans and tennis shoes and pitied the poor women who came in to the store on their lunch breaks, looking pressed and polished and extremely uncomfortable.

  She applied a little extra makeup around her nose to disguise the swelling, but she still looked puffy. If anyone asked, she could say she walked into a door. No one would believe her, but she certainly wasn't going to tell anyone she'd alm
ost knocked herself unconscious with a frigging Shake Weight.

  She looked for her purse for ten minutes before she remembered she’d left it at Under The Inkfluence. In all the ruckus last night she’d forgotten about it. She chewed her lip and wondered how much the fine for driving without a driver’s license was. But she would have to risk it. She had to get to the store.

  She turned to go down the front steps and froze. On her third step was a basket of daisies.

  Daisies. Her favorite. She smiled and picked them up. Who would have left a basket of daisies on her front porch? There was no note. She could safely rule out her husband. Will? He'd been out till two in the morning, also. He didn't even know where she lived.

  Of course, an enterprising and motivated man could find out. How could he know that daisies were her favorite? Perhaps they were so in tune that he'd intuited it.

  Okay, that was going too far. It had been a lucky guess. But luck wasn't such a bad attribute.

  She was going to leave the flowers on the kitchen table, but decided to take them to work instead. She would set them on the front counter. They'd brighten up the scenery.

  The B-52's were on the radio when she got in the car. She turned it up loud so she couldn't hear how bad she sounded, and sang along. Other than a slight headache and a sore nose, the day was definitely looking up.

  Monica, the pet groomer, looked up as Karen breezed through the front door. “Are those for me?” she said when she saw the daisies. “You shouldn't have.”

  “They were on my front porch this morning. Aren't they lovely?”

  “Who are they from?”

  Karen shrugged and set the basket on the counter. She bent to stow her purse underneath. “No note. I'm pretty sure it was George Clooney, though. Word is getting around that I'm single again.”

  “Ah-hah. A secret admirer.”

  Karen flushed and grinned. Brad, the dark-haired hulk of a guy who’d come with the store when she bought it, was lurking around the counter and she didn't like to talk about girl stuff in front of him. It made him obviously uncomfortable. She kept her voice low. “It looks that way. Except I don't think he's such a secret.”

  “Then who is it?” Monica asked.

  “I'm not saying. I could be wrong.” She tried to quit grinning like an idiot. “But I hope I'm not.”

  “You’re not even officially single yet and already you've got 'em standing in line. Could you give me your secret?”

  “Show them your bare butt. Works for me every time.”

  Monica frowned and craned her neck to look mournfully at her behind. “It's worth a shot, I suppose. But I doubt I get the same results you do.” She sighed and stood. “I've got to get back to work. Lambchop is back there right now waiting for her toenails to be painted red. Here’s a list of the supplies we need.”

  The front door dinged and Karen's day got started. She found herself looking at the daisies and smiling throughout the morning.

  They ordered Chinese for lunch and Brad picked it up and brought it back. Stephanie, the college girl who worked at the store part-time, watched the front while the rest of them gathered around the table in the office to eat.

  “This Szechwan chicken is delicious, but it makes my nose run,” Karen said, sniffing and rubbing her nose. “Ouch!” She winced as pain shot through her.

  Monica frowned. “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Karen touched her nose tenderly.

  “You know, I thought earlier that your nose looked a little swollen. What happened?”

  “Shoot! I forgot to make up a story.”

  Monica raised her eyebrows. Brad just stared.

  “I ran into a door.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I did. See, I knew it sounded ridiculous. That was why I was going to make up a different story.”

  Monica bit her egg roll and regarded Karen as she chewed. “Did you see Michael last night?”

  “Yes, why?”

  Monica remained silent.

  “Oh, come on. You don't seriously think Michael hit me, do you?”

  “I sure as heck don't believe you ran into a door.”

  Karen tore open a packet of soy sauce and dripped it onto her rice. “That's ridiculous. We've been married for nineteen years and he never hit me before.”

  “So you say.”

  “He hasn't. And I see no reason he would start now.”

  “Hello. Men tend to get irritated when their wives kick them out of the house.”

  Karen took a few bites of her food while she thought. She might have gotten a little creative about the actual events concerning Michael's moving out. The fact was, he'd packed and moved while she was at work one day, and sat her down to break the news to her when she got home. So she hadn't actually kicked him out, officially. But she had said, “Fine!” in a very definite way. And she had found one of his old golf clubs in a back closet and thrown it onto the driveway after he left. It wasn't one he used or else he would have taken it with him, but it did give her some satisfaction.

  “Michael didn't hit me. We spoke last night –” Should she say where she'd spoken to him? Maybe that was best left for another conversation. “But he definitely didn't hit me.” She smiled at Monica and Brad.

  They both frowned at her.

  Monica reached out and patted her hand. “You don't have to cover for him anymore, Karen.” Her voice was sad.

  “This is crazy. Michael didn't hit me.” It didn't bother her to have a few more people think he was a creep, but she couldn't very well let him take the rap for her swollen nose. “He's never laid a hand on me. I was in a hurry this morning because I'd overslept, the closet door was open and I came around the corner and I ran right into it. End of story. But thanks for your concern, both of you.” Although all Brad had done was stare at her. That was pretty much all Brad ever did.

  Monica stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have to get back to work. But if you ever need to talk, just call me. Anytime. And if you need someone to go with you to press charges, let me be the one.”

  Monica would have liked nothing better than to press charges against all men, for the crime of having a Y chromosome.

  “Thanks. It's not necessary. Really. But thanks.”

  Monica walked away, shaking her head.

  Karen sighed and looked at Brad. “She doesn't believe me.”

  Brad lowered his rather large eyebrows. “Men who hit women ought to be lynched.”

  Karen blinked. That was the most emphatic thing he'd said in the three years since she’d bought the store. Of course, he'd said it in a complete monotone, but still…

  “You're a nice guy, Brad. Some girl is going to be lucky to snag you, someday.”

  He parted his lips and made what Karen realized after a few seconds was probably a smile. He'd never done that, either.

  “Well, ummm… I'd better get back to work.” She stacked her Styrofoam tray and papers together and tossed them in the wastebasket.

  “Karen, there's a guy here to see you.” Stephanie popped her head into the room.

  “Okay.” Thank goodness. She wasn't sure what new avenues this conversation with Brad was going to take.

  Will stood at the front counter with his hands in his pockets. He smiled when she came around the display holding the rhinestone collars.

  “Hey.” She forced herself not to look too pleased to see him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Coming to see you. I thought I'd take you to lunch.”

  “I just ate.” It wouldn’t hurt to play a little bit hard to get. She stepped close to the daisy basket and stroked one stem. “But thanks for asking.”

  “You snooze you lose, right? Maybe some other day?”

  “Maybe.” She smiled and tilted a daisy head his way. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I'm an ace detective. You said you owned a pet shop on 34th Street.”

  So he had been listening. She leaned over and smelled one of the daisies. Hm
m. Daisies didn't really have much of a scent.

  “So…I hope you’re doing okay, after last night?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Sure. Like I said, I get hauled downtown all the time. No big deal.” He hadn't even looked at the daisies. “Aren't they beautiful?” She slid the basket closer to him.

  “Yeah, they're nice. What time do you get off work?”

  Karen frowned. “You didn't send these, did you?”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  Yummy.

  “Was I supposed to?”

  “They were on my front porch this morning. No note. I thought…” She was suddenly embarrassed to tell him she'd thought they were from him. “I didn't know who they were from.”

  His mouth twisted and he snapped his fingers as if he'd just missed something. “Flowers would have been a good idea.”

  “Lunch is more practical, though. Tastes better.”

  “Then let's do it tomorrow.”

  Monica rounded the corner. She looked at Karen, then at Will, then back at Karen with wide eyes. Karen gave Will a quick shake of her head. She wasn't sure yet where this thing with him was going, if it was going anywhere. If she even wanted it to go anywhere. Definitely not a point when she needed to face a lot of probing questions from Monica.

  Will raised his eyebrows. “Okay then. If you'll just call me when that comes in…”

  “Sure. No problem. It shouldn't be more than a day or two.”

  “Okay. Good.” He backed away, his hands in his pockets. “Good. Thanks.”

  “Thank you.”

  He moved toward the door, then turned. “You know, I really want you to call me when that order comes in. Really. The first chance you get.”

  Karen smothered a smile. “You can count on it.”

  He grinned then, and winked. Oooh. Yummier.

  Karen took a deep breath and turned back to the counter.

  Monica faced her with her arms crossed over her chest. “Oh. My. God.”

  “What?” Karen ducked so Monica wouldn't see her blush. Oh my God was right. He really was as sexy as she'd remembered. She grabbed the bottle of cleaner and towel she kept under the counter and squirted the counter.