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“HAVE YOU BEEN sniffing my collage adhesive?”
Skye hadn’t expected her roommate to be thrilled that she was hopping in a car and leaving town with Nico tomorrow morning. But what she needed right now was moral support—not accusations of illegal use of art supplies.
She ignored Fiona and headed straight for her bedroom before she could be talked out of the craziest thing she’d agreed to do in this lifetime. Already, the idea of doing the opposite of what her instincts told her was feeling ridiculous, foolhardy—impossible.
But she had to give it a try. What other options did she have? What had her old way of making decisions gotten her but heartache and failure?
She and Fiona had developed the theory after Skye had found out about Martin’s deception, and in the tequila-laced fog of those depressing days, it had seemed perfectly sound. Maybe there were a few holes in their logic, she had to admit now, but she’d never know if the theory of opposites worked until she applied it to her life.
And without a job or a dime in her savings account, was it really so crazy to go looking for Martin? What else did she have to lose?
Not much. And she couldn’t deny the lure of Nico’s promise to hook her up with that TV guy. Scriptwriting might not have been her focus, but it would be a huge step in the right direction. Such impressive writing credits would surely open doors that could lead to her selling The Cinderella Solution. Hope surged in her chest at the very thought.
She flipped on the overhead light in her bedroom, then tugged open her top dresser drawer. Instinct told her to pack all the travel basics—versatile cotton pieces, comfortable underwear, walking shoes—so that meant she had to do the opposite.
She grabbed all her laciest, most impractical under-garments and tossed them on the bed, then headed for her closet, flung it open, and pulled out the most Vegas-appropriate clothes she owned. A pink pair of capri pants with beaded fringe around the leg openings, a stretchy black mini skirt, a red glittery tank, a white halter top, a black going-out-clubbing dress that she hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet, plus a few more pieces. She turned with the pile of clothes draped over her arm to find Fiona gaping at her.
“Are you going to find Martin or are you running away to become a showgirl?”
“Okay, so tell me how far I have to take this ‘doing the opposite’ thing? Does it apply to underwear choices and packing for trips, too?”
“Of course not!” She frowned. “Well, but, maybe you’re onto something there.”
“Maybe the further I take the philosophy, the more completely my life will be transformed.”
“This is wacked,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “I mean, if you take this too far, you’ll end up sitting in restaurants ordering liver and onions when you want to eat a cheeseburger.”
She had a point there. Skye had to draw the line someplace, but where? Maybe whenever her decisions could directly impact her relationships with men. So, in that case, clothes, hair and makeup were an issue—cheeseburgers were not.
Skye dragged her leopard-print overnight bag out of the bottom of her closet and opened it on the bed. There was enough room for a weekend or more worth of clothing in the bag, but would she need more than that? She hadn’t even bothered to ask Nico how long they’d be gone. Maybe he didn’t know either.
“Okay, so the rule of opposites only applies to decisions that affect my love life. How’s that?”
“Sounds…reasonable,” Fiona said. “But I think we need a litmus test to determine if the theory really works or not.”
“You mean like, if my Prince Charming shows up out of nowhere with a glass slipper that magically fits my foot—”
“No, but if you’re really making decisions that are the opposite of your relationship instincts, and all of a sudden you find yourself with a great guy who gives you multiple orgasms and is head over heels in love with you, you’ll know it’s working.”
“But at any moment, the relationship could turn into a disaster. Doesn’t there need to be, like, a time limit or something? Maybe things have to be going well for a year, or two years…”
Fiona made a sour face. “I don’t want to wait that long to find out if we’re right. I’d say a month of dating bliss is plenty to prove the theory.”
“Okay, a month of multiple orgasms with Mr. Perfect, and a confession from him of undying love.”
She waited for Fiona’s enthusiastic agreement, but instead received silence.
And then, “Listen, Skye. I don’t know about you taking off for destinations unknown with a guy you barely know. I mean, it’s possible we’re wrong on this doing-the-opposite thing. Maybe you’ve had the world’s longest string of bad luck, and maybe it’s due to end any second now. Maybe you don’t need to do a thing.”
“The last thing I need is you getting wishy-washy on me now. You came up with the whole damn idea in the first place!”
Skye grabbed her bras and panties from the bed and flung them into the bag to punctuate her statement. She would not be deterred.
“Okay, you’re right. You’re just freaking me out here. I never imagined you’d embrace the plan so thoroughly, you know?”
“I just feel like I’ve screwed up most of my life up until now. My love life’s in the toilet, and now my work life is, too. And I’m running out of excuses. If things don’t start looking up soon, I’m going to have to face the fact that I’m a loser.”
She flopped down on the bed and looked at her assortment of hoochie-mama attire with disgust. Fiona sat beside her and draped an arm over her shoulders. She leaned her head against Skye’s and sighed.
“You’re anything but a loser, babe. Of all the people I know, you’re one of the few who’s had the courage to really go after your dreams. You took a lousy job that wasn’t at all suited to you, just so you’d have the energy to write at night. And so what if you’re not where you want to be yet? You’re only twenty-five—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
“My whole life minus twenty-five years,” Skye said, then felt like a jerk for being so melodramatic when Fiona herself was about to take the kind of job she’d sworn she’d never be caught dead in.
“Yeah, well, as a woman almost five years your senior, I can tell you, you’ve got a long way to go before you can ever think about giving up.”
“So is age thirty the cut-off date for wholeheartedly pursuing my dreams?”
“Not funny.”
“I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch. Feel free to smack me.”
“How about I help you add a few things to your wardrobe selection there to ensure you won’t have people mistaking you for a hooker?”
“And then can we go out for a white pizza at Luigi’s?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call Sammy and Leila and see if they want to join us, okay?”
Skye felt herself relaxing a bit for the first time all evening. A dinner at her favorite pizza place with her three favorite people was just what she needed right now. And with any luck at all, she’d be able to forget about Nico Valletti for the rest of the night.
THE FERRARI’S ENGINE rumbled to a stop in front of Skye’s apartment building, and Nico peered out the window at the landing in front of her door. What the hell was he doing? Did he really think taking off on a road trip in search of a con man with said thief’s probable con-artist girlfriend was going to get him anything but royally screwed?
That was the thing about retirement. He had too much time on his hands. He needed to start doing some volunteer work, become a mentor to troubled teens or something like that. He’d had good intentions, but somehow, he’d managed to let time slip by him recently, unaware of its passing until he’d forgotten an appointment or missed calling his mother on her birthday.
Nico got out of the car and stretched, his body still stiff from a restless night’s sleep. He’d been unable to get Skye and the trip off his mind, and now, in the muggy, still morning air, he wished like hell he’d taken a sleeping pill.
He headed up the stairs to Skye’s apartment. When he knocked on the door and a woman he didn’t recognize answered, he glanced at the number beside the door frame to be sure he was in the right place.
“You must be Satan,” she said.
Um, okay.
She was tall and lanky, sexy in that raw way that certain women had. They tended to be the ones who could sit around all day naked just as comfortably as they could wearing clothes. She wore her dark hair in two long braids, and her tank top and faded jeans hugged nice curves.
“No, actually, I’m Nico. Is Skye here?”
“Sorry, I’m Fiona, Skye’s roommate. I was joking about the Satan thing. She’s in her bedroom second-guessing her wardrobe choices for the trip.”
Nico studied her expression to see if it matched her sarcastic tone, but he couldn’t tell. He moved past her into the apartment and found himself in the middle of a room with lavender walls, dark purple furniture, and red pillows strewn every which way. Some crazylooking paintings with stuff glued to them hung in various spots around the room, and the overall effect was girly overload. Nico had the strange sensation that he was going to emerge from the apartment smelling like a woman—as had happened to him in the past when he’d accidentally tossed a shirt into a bowl of a girl-friend’s potpourri during a moment of passion.
“Come on back,” Fiona said, leading him toward a hallway, and then to Skye’s bedroom.
“Your ride’s here,” she said to Skye, her voice laced with sarcasm again. She stood staring from him to Skye and back again, clearly not shy about eavesdropping.
Skye turned to face him, looking as amazing as ever. She wore her hair pulled back in a thick ponytail that hung down the middle of her back, and she had on a pair of white capri pants and a little pink tank top that would make it hard for him to keep his gaze from wandering south.
“Hi,” she said, then turned back to her travel bag, giving Nico the pleasure of letting his gaze roam wherever it wanted for now. “I’ll be ready in just a sec.”
“No hurry. I just heard on the radio there’s an accident in the Cajon Pass. Sounds like we might be stuck on this side of the mountains for a while.”
Not hitting any major traffic in L.A. was about as likely as the smog vanishing from the sky. It just didn’t happen. The Cajon Pass was the passage from the L.A. basin up the mountains into the high desert, where seedy towns offered little more than fast food and bad motels for travelers on their way to Vegas. Searching those towns for Martin sounded anything but appealing, but if they had to do it, he could think of worse people to do it with than Skye.
“Maybe we shouldn’t leave until later then,” Skye said, staring forlornly at a laptop computer that sat in a carrying case on her bed.
“I think we ought to just take our chances. The accident could be cleared up by the time we make it to the pass.”
Skye was looking at him now as if she didn’t really see him.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing. I mean, yeah, there is. I’m just kind of freaked out about this whole trip. And I should be staying home writing, not chasing after my ex.”
“So bring your computer with you and write during downtime.”
Nico knew there was a danger of her second-guessing the whole trip and deciding not to go. He’d worried that she might change her mind, but really, what did she have to lose by going? If she was in cahoots with Martin, she could go along presumably to keep tabs on Nico. While on the other hand, if Martin had scammed her, too, and she didn’t try to find him, she could definitely kiss her life savings goodbye.
“Okay, I’ll bring the computer. It might come in handy if we end up in any hotels that have Internet access.”
“I don’t have much trunk space, but it should fit behind one of the seats if nothing else,” Nico said as he grabbed her two bags from the bed and hefted them onto his shoulders.
He realized belatedly that her bringing her computer along would offer him access to her private life—and, he hoped, evidence of her true relationship with Martin. He just needed to get some time alone with the laptop, and he could check out her e-mail, her Internet use, her saved documents. Maybe something would tell him what he needed to know—to trust Skye, or not to trust her.
They walked to the front door, and from the couch Fiona called, “You two kids be careful now, you hear?”
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