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“Com’ere,” he said.
She looked up at him, her deep brown eyes full of pain. Her lower lip quivered as she bravely fought her tears. “I’m okay, really.”
“No, you’re not. I know how much having a baby means to you.” Shifting closer, he tugged her toward him. It was all the coercing she needed to dissolve into his arms. He held her, stroking her hair as a river of her tears, intermingled with his sweat, rolled down his bare chest to the waist of his pants. The sensation was almost…erotic.
Erotic? He instantly felt like a slime. She needed comfort—a shoulder to cry on. Impure thoughts involving Marisa had been excusable back in middle school when his hormones had been raging and her breasts had just begun developing. Since then, he’d managed to keep those urges in check. For the most part, at least. Every now and then he indulged in a little fantasy, like finding out what she was hiding under all of those clothes. She owned a lingerie shop. It just stood to reason that she wore sexy underthings. He could imagine her in lace—red lace. Or better yet, black.
A sudden and intense tug of arousal stole his breath. Now was definitely not the time to be thinking about black lace. Especially when it pertained to Marisa’s body. It was just that he’d never felt the caress of her hands on his bare back, or noticed how sweet her hair smelled, or how soft it felt against his cheek.
Maybe he’d just never felt the lush swell of her breasts—
Whoa, stop right there. He was not going to start thinking about her breasts. Though he had to admit that it was tough to ignore them when they pillowed so softly against him. And he realized suddenly, that his hands were straying lower, gently caressing her through her blouse, exploring places they shouldn’t be.
She chose that moment to pull back and dig a tissue out of her pocket. “I’m really sorry about this,” she said, wiping her nose. She gave him a shaky smile, tears still clinging to her long, dark lashes. “I guess I needed to vent.”
“Vent on me anytime,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“Oh, jeez, I got you all wet.” She pulled a fresh tissue out and wiped the moisture from his shoulder and chest. Sliding lower, closer to his waist, her fingers brushed against the taut skin of his stomach and a stab of desire pierced his gut. Instinctively he jerked.
She looked at him strangely, then, as if realizing what she’d done, her eyes widened and she yanked her hand back. “Sorry.”
There was a brief, awkward silence then her lower lip began to tremble and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
It broke his heart to see her so miserable. If anyone deserved unconditional happiness, it was Marisa.
Abandoning any inappropriate thoughts, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Marisa. Is there anything I can do to help?”
You could have sex with me. Marisa wondered what his reaction would be if she were to blurt it out. Would he be appalled? Intrigued? Would he fall back on the blanket laughing hysterically?
Probably the latter. There was no use speculating, because it would never happen. She would never work up the nerve to ask. She would never be able to handle the rejection when she heard that inevitable no.
“It comes down to me not having enough money saved,” she said, sniffling and resting her cheek against his damp shoulder. “I considered mortgaging the shop to make up the difference, but if I’m going to have a baby, I don’t want to jeopardize my financial security.”
“If I could, I would lend you the money, but producing this CD is sucking up all of my cash. I’ve had people calling me constantly with studio work, so much I’ve had to turn some of it down, but things are still tight.”
“I’ll get over this—eventually.”
Jake’s arms tightened around her. She felt the tickle of his breath against her hair, smelled the balmy scent of the spearmint candies he bought by the case since he’d given up cigarettes. Was it just her imagination or had they been touching each other an awful lot today? Or maybe they had always touched each other and it just felt different now. Not just different, but…nice.
Too nice.
“What really sucks,” he said, “is that if we pooled our money together, we could probably do one or the other, but that would mean one of us would have to sacrifice.”
“I could still get pregnant,” she said. “I would just have to find a man to—” She realized her mistake the second the words were out, but it was too late to take them back.
The hand that had been gently rubbing her shoulder came to a dead stop. “Find a man to do what, Marisa?”
There was a long, silent pause. Marisa extracted herself from Jake’s arms and glanced down at her wrist. “Wow, will you look at the time.”
Jake noted with amusement that she wasn’t wearing a watch. “Where are you going?”
“I should head back to the shop. Lucy probably needs me.”
As Jake watched her hastily rewrap her untouched sandwich and stuff it into the cooler, everything began to make a weird sort of sense. “When I walked into the store today, what were you and Lucy talking about?”
She avoided his eyes. “You know. The sex thing.”
“But why were you talking about it?”
“No reason.” She started to get up, but he reached for her arm and tugged her back down.
“You’re blushing again,” he said.
She reached up and pressed her fingers to her cheek.
“Were you talking about getting pregnant when I walked in?” he asked.
Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she nodded.
Holy—
Jake’s heart began to race. He could hardly choke out the next question. “Is that what Lucy meant when she said I would be perfect?”
He could barely believe it when her head wobbled up and down. He dropped her arm and sat back, stunned. Him getting Marisa pregnant? Lucy thought he would be perfect, but what did Marisa think? What did he think?
There was one obvious advantage to the situation—sex with Marisa. That alone would be tough to pass up. But he’d decided a long time ago that he would never have a family. He would be a lousy father, and an equally lousy husband. But Marisa wasn’t looking for a family, he reminded himself. She just wanted a baby.
His baby?
“I know.” Marisa laughed nervously. “I told Lucy what a stupid idea it is. I mean, you and me having a baby? Yeah, right.”
“Yeah, right,” he agreed, equal parts disappointment and relief burning through him. Either she didn’t think he was good enough to father her child, or the thought of making love to him was so repulsive she would never consider it.
No matter the reason, she was probably right. It was a crazy idea.
“So, you ready to go?” Marisa stood next to the blanket, cooler in hand. The sun burned bright behind her, hiding her face in shadow, but he could tell by her tone that she was anxious to leave. He’d lost his appetite anyway.
“Yeah, sure.” He pulled his shirt on and balled up the blanket, tucking it under his arm. They were both quiet as they walked back to her shop. When they got there she handed him the cooler.
“This isn’t going to make things weird, is it?” she asked, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. “You know, the whole baby thing.”
If he let it, maybe. But he wasn’t going to let himself take it personally. Nor could he blame her for thinking he wouldn’t be the right man to father her child. After all, she knew him better than anyone.
“Do you know how many women have come up to me after a show and offered to have my children?” He gave her a playful nudge. “I’m used to it.”
She handed him the cooler. “So, we’re good?”
“Yeah, we’re good.”
She reached for the door handle, then stopped, turning back to him. “Because it would be kind of strange. You know, you and me…together.”
He nodded. “Yep. Pretty strange.”
“I mean, not bad strange. Just, different. It would change everything.”
“It certainly would.” Possibly for the better. Or possibly not. It was the not side of that coin that made him uneasy. Without Marisa, he wouldn’t have anyone. He wasn’t prepared to jeopardize their friendship.
“You’re playing tonight?” Marisa asked.
“Nine-thirty. If you’re planning on coming, I’ll stop by and walk you down. It’s on my way. We’re trying out some new material tonight.”
“Okay.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
“That’s a yes.” She pulled the door open, letting out a rush of cool dry air, then stopped again, turning back to him. She looked as if she might say something, then she shook her head and disappeared inside.
The bells over the door jingled softly as it swung shut, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite his assurances otherwise, things had changed anyway.
Three
“Risa, Jake’s here,” Lucy called from the front of the store. “Are you ready to go?”
Wincing as pain clutched low in her belly, Marisa shelved the day’s receipts and stored the cash in the safe. “Go ahead and lock up. I’ll be right out.”
Jake poked his head around the corner. “Anything I can do?”
She wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow. “Nope, I’ll be ready in just a second.”
“Hey, you okay? You look a little pale.”
She forced a smile. “Feminine stuff. I’ll be fine.”
He nodded, no more explanation necessary. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen her in pain, and probably wouldn’t be the last either. “If you’re not feeling good, you don’t have to come to the bar tonight.”
“I’ll be okay in a few minutes. Tell Lucy I’ll be right out.”
She grabbed a bottle of aspirin from the cabinet above the sink in the bathroom and chased three down with water. Clutching the edge of the sink, she sucked in several deep breaths while she waited for the spasms to cease. Every bout of pain lately was a grim reminder she was running out of time. She would only be able to take so much more before she had to give in and have the surgery.
“Risa,” Lucy popped her head in. “Someone here to see you.”
“Did you tell them we’re closed?”
“I tried, but he said it’s personal. Some guy and his daughter.”
Some guy and his…oh no, it couldn’t be. She closed her eyes, shaking her head. Please, not tonight, she prayed silently.
She followed Lucy to the front, and of course, it was him. He always managed to show up when she didn’t want to see him. Which, come to think of it, was most of the time. How long had it been anyway? A year? Maybe longer?
Still tall and handsome, he looked a decade younger than his fifty-two years. The only hint of his true age was the distinguished trace of gray peppering his temples. The woman next to him was poured into a black-and-gold dress and clung to his arm. Maybe she was afraid of busting an ankle on her four-inch spiked heels.
“Marisa,” he said stiffly, gazing with barely masked distaste around the store.
She told herself not to let the rejection bother her, but deep down it stung. There was still a remnant of the little girl in her that used to try so hard to please him.
“Hello, Joseph. Long time no see.”
“I’d like to introduce you to Julia.”
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Marisa. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I’ll bet you have, Marisa thought, accepting her petite hand. She knew Joseph had always preferred younger women, but this was obscene. She couldn’t have been more than twenty.
Lucy stood next to her and appeared perplexed. Jake hovered near the counter looking as if he wanted to disappear.
“Where are my manners,” she said. “Joseph, you remember my friend Jake, and this is Lucy Lopez. We work together. Lucy, this is Joseph Donato, my father.”
Joseph gave them both a slight nod.
“So, when’s the big day?” Marisa asked.
Julia looked up at him, confused. “You told her already?”
Marisa gestured to Julia’s right hand. “The rock you’re wearing tipped me off. How many does this make, Joseph? Five or six?”
A nerve twitched in his jaw, and he eyed her sternly. “You know very well that Melinda was my fourth wife, which will make Julia my fifth.”
She challenged his piercing gaze. “You never know. I thought maybe you slipped one in somewhere without telling me.”
“Marisa,” Julia said, stepping forward. “Joey and I wanted to invite you to join us for dinner, to celebrate our engagement.”
“Really?” She could barely hide her surprise. “Whose idea was that?”
Julia glanced nervously at Joseph. “Um, both of ours.”
Boy, was she a lousy liar. Marisa knew Joseph wouldn’t have voluntarily asked her to join him for a meal. Still, she had no reason to be rude to Julia. “I’m sorry, I have plans tonight. But thank you for the invitation.”
“You will come to the wedding, won’t you?”
She’d never attended one of her father’s weddings. Well, not since his second marriage when her mother had sent her to the formal reception decked out in a ratty old dress and scuffed shoes. She had wanted all of his guests to see how poorly he cared for his daughter. She’d given no thought to how mortified Marisa would feel.
“Your father doesn’t love you,” her mother had said. “He only cares about himself, and now everyone will know it.”
It never escaped Marisa’s attention that her mother had a closet full of designer clothes and shoes. But when Marisa needed money for school clothes, or the rent was due, the well was always dry.
“It’s August eighteenth,” Julia was saying. “Can you make it?”
Marisa scrambled for an excuse to decline.
“It would mean so much to us,” Julia pressed. The look she gave Marisa was nearly pleading. “Please come.”
Pity for the girl overshadowed reason. Julia seemed nice enough. Clueless—but nice. “Sure, I’ll come.”
“Oh good!” she said excitedly. Joseph stood next to her, his face solemn. “I’ll send you an invitation.”
“We should go,” Joseph said, taking her arm. “We’ll miss our reservations.”
“It was so nice meeting you.” Julia took Marisa’s hand again, this time squeezing it firmly. “I hope we see each other again soon.”
Joseph nodded in her direction. “Take care of yourself, Marisa,” he said, guiding Julia to the door.
“It was nice meeting you, too, Lucy and Jake!” Julia waved as the door jangled shut.
“Whoa.” Lucy leaned against the counter next to Jake. “That was tense.”
“Very tense,” Jake agreed. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a sphincter level of about ninety-nine point nine.”
“Your father is gorgeous,” Lucy said.
Marisa grabbed her purse from the file-cabinet drawer and pulled out her keys. “Don’t think he doesn’t know it.”
Lucy switched the lights off and they started toward the door. “Are you really going to go to their wedding?”
“I might. I’m a little curious, I guess.” They stepped outside into the stifling heat and Marisa locked up behind them.
“Your family is so scandalous,” Lucy said. “I envy you. I’ve got a family full of practicing Catholics. It’s so dull.”
They wove their way down Main Street toward the bar. As was the case every Friday night, the streets of the trendy town were clogged with people. “Lucy, trust me when I tell you it’s not as exciting as you may think. Especially for the people directly involved.”
Jake only nodded silently. Having grown up in an equally dysfunctional family, no one had to explain the concept to him.
When they reached the bar, they walked past the long line of customers waiting for a table and the bouncer motioned them through the door.
They negotiated through a sea of people to the table marked Reserved just to the left of the dance floor.
“I’ll see you after the set,” Jake said, and headed for the stage, instantly encompassed by the usual preperformance harem.
Having been so distracted by the pain and her father’s unexpected visit, Marisa barely noticed Jake’s appearance. Not that he looked any different than usual. Under the dim, smoky lights he looked unbelievably handsome. Well, actually, he looked unbelievably handsome all the time. And it wasn’t just good looks that made him so attractive. There were endearing little things that added to his appeal. The hair that was always a little messy. The slightly crooked nose—a battle scar from one of his father’s rages—and the way his mouth lifted a fraction higher on the left when he smiled.
He turned and flashed her that crooked grin and a funny little flutter danced through her stomach.
From across the table, Lucy nudged her.
She tore her eyes away from the stage. “Huh?”
“I said, Jake looks good tonight.”
A rush of heat claimed her cheeks when she realized she’d been caught staring. She tried to sound casual. “Oh, yeah, I guess he does.”
“You need a tissue?”
“What for?”
“The drool on your chin.”
Before she could embarrass herself further with a denial Lucy would most surely see right through, a waitress appeared to take their drink orders. A moment later Jake introduced the band and began the set with a rich, lazy rhythm, rendering a hush over the entire bar. Marisa propped her chin on the back of her hands, gazing up at him, lulled by a haunting tune she didn’t recognize. Then he sought her out, his eyes locking on hers, and she had the irrational, almost thrilling sensation that they were the only two people there. That he was playing for her alone. A slow, melodic seduction. She’d never heard him play more soulfully.
It went on that way throughout the forty-minute set and by the end, she felt as if she’d been picked apart, dragged out emotionally and left raw and exposed.
A burst of wild applause snapped her back to reality. His music had touched everyone there, not just her. Although, he had been watching her…
Jake thanked the crowd, passed the entertainment over to the DJ, then eased his way past a throng of eager young women. Between autographs and words of praise, he slowly made his way to Marisa and Lucy’s table. As Marisa rose to greet him, a tall, leggy blonde seated at the table behind them body-slammed her out of the way. Marisa stumbled, catching her balance on the edge of the table.
The blonde attached herself to Jake like a leech, whispering in his ear. He laughed, whispered something in return and when she handed him a business card he tucked it into his shirt pocket. It occurred to Marisa that Jake hadn’t been looking at her.
He’d been fixed on the blonde sitting directly behind her.
Humiliation blistered Marisa’s pride. What had she been thinking? Why would she let herself believe that Jake could look at her as anything but a friend? How could she have ever even considered that he would agree to be her baby’s father? That the thought of making love to her might not be such a bad thing after all. She should have known better.
Though she wanted to deny it, something had happened between them today. Something had changed and she didn’t know how to reverse it. How to fix it.
“Sorry about that.” Jake folded himself into the chair opposite her and signaled the waitress for his usual soda. “The longer I’m in this business, the more aggressive they seem to get.”
“Poor baby,” Lucy teased, and he pinched her playfully, making her squeal.
Holding in the tears of humiliation burning behind her eyes, Marisa grabbed her purse and rose from her chair. “I’m going home.”
“Already?” Disappointment twisted Jake’s gut. He had hoped she would stay for a while, so he could see if the connection he’d experienced, the charge of electricity he’d felt pass between them, was real or a figment of his imagination. “You’re sure you can’t stay a while?”
“I’m beat.”
“Do you mind if I stay?” Lucy asked. “Or do you want company walking home?”
“You should stay,” Marisa told her. “Have a good time.”
Jake got up. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t like you walking home alone at night. See you later, Luce.”
“You two have fun,” Lucy called after them. Her tone suggested she knew exactly what had been on Jake’s mind all night. Hell, all day. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t shake it.
On the way out he saw the producer who’d approached him. She appeared deep in conversation with the owner of the bar, but as he passed, she glanced over and mouthed the words call me.
He’d tried to explain that he was producing his music himself, under an independent label, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was approached regularly by so-called producers. He’d gone that route before. Never again would he sign away his creative rights. This was his music. He would record it the way he saw fit. Though he made a decent living as a studio musician, and he enjoyed the work, writing music was his true passion.
The night air was still heavy with moisture as they stepped out the door, but the temperature had lowered to a semitolerable level. A warm breeze carried the rich scent of coffee from the shop two doors down, and cars, spitting exhaust and overflowing with rowdy teenagers, lined the narrow city streets.
Jake draped one arm loosely across Marisa’s shoulder as they walked down the street together. They’d walked this way countless times before, but tonight was different. Tonight he was hyperaware of her presence beside him. The softness of her hair brushing against his arm, the scent of her perfume tantalizing his nose, the occasional bump of her hip against his thigh as they walked.
Marisa, however didn’t seem to notice a thing. She stared off, oblivious to his presence, her mind a million miles away.
“What did you think of the set?” he asked, curious to know if she’d felt anything special. Anything different.
“It was good,” she said noncommittally. “I like the new material.”
Disappointment took a choke hold on his heart. Okay, so she hadn’t felt it. She probably hadn’t even been looking at him, just staring blindly into space, thinking about the store inventory or shampooing her hair. Why would he let himself think—believe—it could have been anything else?
He’d promised he wouldn’t let what happened this afternoon compromise their friendship, and here he was flaking out. But he couldn’t seem to erase the idea from his mind. He’d run the situation over in his head a thousand times today and still one question nagged him.
Could he bring a child into the world, his own flesh and blood, then give it up?
Then it had dawned on him. He wouldn’t really be giving it up. As Marisa’s friend, he would always be a part of the kid’s life, but distanced enough to keep from doing any irreparable damage. It would be sort of like having a family, without really having one.
He could take the kid to the zoo, or teach him to play baseball. The little guy would never have to know the truth. At least, not until he was older. Even then he would probably be better off not knowing what kind of family he’d come from. What kid would want to learn he’d had an abusive, alcoholic grandfather and an uncle serving a life sentence in prison? It just wouldn’t be fair to burden a kid with that.
Hell, he could even start a college fund and, of course, if Marisa ever needed support financially, or just someone to baby-sit, he would be there for her. He could teach him about music—start him early learning the fundamentals. If someone had bothered to take the time with Jake, had recognized his musical potential, who knows where he would be today. Marisa’s kid would have the best of everything.
The more he’d thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Somehow the concept of her raising his child just felt right.
He’d tried to dismiss it. He’d tried to ignore the voice inside telling him it would be the right thing to do, that he owed it to Marisa for all she’d done for him. For being his best friend. His only family.
But he hadn’t been able to shut the voice out. The big question was, would Marisa go for it? Would she think he was good enough?
“I was wondering,” Marisa said, breaking the silence. “How would you feel about coming to the wedding with me. I could use the moral support.”